The Warden in Skyhold
by elle45
Summary: The Breach is gone, Corypheus defeated, and the Inquisition has turned its attention to simpler problems. The Hero of Fereldan, Warden Commander Amell, comes to Skyhold in search of help to cure the Calling. Cullen wants to help. But first, he'll have to convince Amell that he isn't the same man she saved in the Tower.
1. The Warden Arrives at Skyhold

Skyhold really was beautiful. Ivy Amell had stopped three times already to admire it on her way across the mountains. It was simple, imposing, the gray stones washed almost white with time. She liked it more because it was still, in a way, a ruin. Ostagar was a ruin. Redcliff was dotted with ruins. The shore outside the Circle Tower where she'd spent her whole childhood was lousy with the remnants of old forts and temples. All of Fereldan was scarred with the remnants of old wars, old churches, old power struggles.

She travelled alone, as always. She wore her staff openly on her back, these days, but it was only an old twist of oak from the Elder Tree. Nothing fancy. Her hooded cloak was dark red when she bought it, but now it was mottled brown in places from old blood stains that never quite came out. Her leathers were worn enough to be soft. But nothing she had was new, or expensive, or ornate. No one who saw her would think, *there goes the Hero of Fereldan!* Which was good. When people knew who she was they asked her for things. As if she had run around ten years ago doing a million different chores for a million different people because she *liked* it. All those little tasks were a small price to pay for gathering an army big enough to break the Blight, but she wasn't trying to win over hearts and minds anymore.

Now, if the Inquisition happened to have an excellent blood mage, and that mage wanted something? She'd do as many little chores as she had to to get on their good side.

The big stone bridge that led into Skyhold was just as sturdy as it looked from afar. No crumbling masonry or anything. The walls looked just as imposing. She took a closer look. All masonry crumblers over time. But it looked like the stone parts of Skyhold were not held together by any mud and straw concoction—they were just fitted very closely together.

She'd seen small forts, ancient and low to the ground, built much the same way. But nothing so big. It had to be put together by magic. Just to get the stones together at the right angle higher up the wall, that would take a mage. Or a team of mages.

The portcullis was open. Open and, she noted with disapproval, rusted. The muddy grass and gravel just inside the gate was teeming with people. Just, milling about. Checking out the sunshine, maybe. As though there weren't plenty of it to go around up here in this sunblasted hold. She stopped the first person she saw who looked young, too young to have seen her during the Blight.

"Excuse me," she said, with a smile. She had a good smile. Always had. The young woman she'd stopped waited politely for her to make her request. "I'm looking for your spymaster."

Leliana the spymaster. Her old friend had told her all about it in her letters. Well, she'd told her that she was doing it. That the Inquisitor, a young Dalish man from clan Lavellan, shared Ivy's views on morality. Which meant someone was keeping her old friend from murdering every obstacle that life threw in her path.

Ivy made a mental note to thank the Inquisitor for that while she was here.

Leliana's letters also included news about anyone she thought Ivy would be interested in. The fate of Schmooples, her beloved nug, and all its progeny. The latest confirmed and safe-to-be-read-by-strangers gossip from Alistair's court—he was still making a fool out of himself over Elena Cousland, apparently. The fact that Morrigan and her young son were staying in Skyhold, ostensibly being helpful. The latest whereabouts of Zevran, Shale, and Ogrhen. And the fact that Cullen freaking Rutherford, a man she'd last seen ranting and raving in the Circle Tower, was the leader of the Inquisition's forces. And *doing a good job*.

Somehow.

"Mistress Leliana has been spending more time in the Chantry of late. You might find her there," the young woman said. She then nodded, politely, and went about her day. No one recognized Ivy. Not even here, in the entryway of the mighty Inquisition.

She'd have to speak to Leliana about that.

There were no helpful signs to point her on her way. She had to ask where the Chantry was twice. But she did find it, eventually, nestled in a bright courtyard garden. She opened the door without knocking.

Leliana was standing inside. Her old friend still kept her bright red hair cut short, but now she wore a cowl that gave her the illusion of long hair. Her purple mail and leathers were well made, form fitting, and had to be a custom job. She had several cups and bottles and bowls up on the altar before the stone carving of Andraste. And when she heard the door open, she looked up.

"Ivy!" she cried, voice shrill with excitement, and she launched herself at the Warden. Ivy found her arms full of bard. Leliana hugged her tightly, and did not let go for a long time. When she finally did, it was to draw back with a bright smile. "I've been waiting for you! My scouts saw you approach. What took you so long?"

"It's not like there's signs to tell me where the Chantry is in this place. I'm glad you saw me, I was worried. Your people didn't seem to recognize me," Ivy said. Was it all a ruse? No, because Leliana's smile turned rueful.

"That's probably because they *didn't* recognize you. But I did, when I saw you over the battlements. Or at least I recognized that staff. I can get you a new one. A staff made entirely of Everite, if you want," Leliana said. Her hands clasped Ivy's. But the Warden just shook her head.

"I have enough problems with bandits as it is, thanks."

"That's reasonable. But you know, you don't have to travel alone. Even if the Wardens don't—well. That's another discussion." Leliana waved away whatever words she'd choked back. She led Ivy over to the altar. It was covered in an absolute feast. Bottles of wine, plates of cheese and soft white bread, Antivan sweets, and grapes piled high. Ivy's stomach rumbled. "You must be hungry, after your long walk here. Please help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do," Ivy grinned. She piled a plate high. So did Leliana. They sat down, straddling one of the pews, facing each other with their food between them. Just like old times. Except now it was a pew, not a log. And the food was better. The wine was a lot sweeter than Ivy expected. It tasted almost like honey.

"Where's Morrigan? I heard she joined up. You two finally getting along?" Ivy asked.

"Absolutely not. We aren't ever going to be as close as either of us are with you, you know. She's at the Winter Palace with Kieran. Her son. They should be back in the next few days in you want to see her," Leliana said. Ivy raised her eyebrows at the mention of Morrigan's son. Alistair's son, too, she supposed.

"And what is little Kieran like?" Ivy asked. The boy was, after all, host to the soul of an Old God.

"He's no more demonic than I would expect of any child Morrigan raised," Leliana said. Ivy laughed at that. "Please eat as much as you want, don't be shy. I wanted to make sure you had a chance to eat and talk before everyone descended upon you. Even if you are only here for a day – and I hope you'll stay much longer than that! – everyone will want to talk to you. Our travels during the Blight and what you were able to accomplish with next to no resources has been a real inspiration to us all."

"About that." Ivy took a considered sip of the honey wine. "Congrats on closing the Breach. That's a real accomplishment. I'll say the same to your Inquisitor. And killing Corypheus at last is no little feat, either. If he's really dead. But just between you and me, Leli, what on Earth have you all been doing? We gathered an army, changed the political future of every power group in Fereldan, and saved the whole freaking world with nothing but the weapons on our backs and the wits in our heads. You guys have an army of your own. A castle. Political alliances. And one little revolution gave you this much trouble?"

"There's also the matter of the Breach," Leliana said, her lips twitching. Ivy waved a hand.

"One little world-ending emergency. One. Come on," she said. Leliana sighed.

"It's not just about putting a stop to the bad things. It's also about building a future full of good things," Leliana said.

That hit Ivy right in the heart. She blinked, and her face went very still, but Leliana didn't seem to notice.

"When we were all younger, when the Blight was beginning, we only thought about stopping it. But now we're older. Hopefully wiser. And as soon as we started addressing the chaos it was clear we could go a step further. We are building Thedas into a better world, Ivy. We're building futures for ourselves, for everyone," Leliana said.

That was the hard, cold center of the resentment Ivy tried very hard to ignore. Leliana had moved on, and up. Alistair was king. Morrigan was apparently magical advisor to the Empress of Orlais, hobnobbing with the big bad Inquisition on the side. Even Cullen, who she remembered as a shy teenage Templar and then a ranting, broken man, was doing well for himself. Building a future.

And she was just wandering the world, trying to find a way out of the damnation she'd bought herself. Not just to save her own skin, she wasn't selfish or foolish enough to waste her days on that. But Alistair was king, and he had no heir. Because of the Taint. And when she was Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden Commander of Fereldan she'd given the Warden's tainted blessing to so many people that she came to see as dear friends. Even Anders, damn his idiot soul, was one of hers. And she had to find some way out of this corner she'd backed them all into.

"That's actually why I'm here," Ivy said. She managed to speak cheerfully around the burning lump in her throat. "You guys have all done such a great job breaking down the old orders I thought you could help me reverse the Taint. I'm close, Leliana. I'm close but I need better mages to tell me how to go on. People with more experience."

"You'll have any help you want," Leliana promised. She patted Ivy's hand. She was colder than she used to be, back when they were younger. She forgot to smile, and her default stare was no longer sad or wistful but icy. Of course, Ivy thought, she'd gotten a lot colder, too. The years were both kind and unkind to them all. "We've got the best mages in Thedas here. And more, besides. We can send people to find any materials or artifacts you might be missing."

"Oooh. So it's not all grapes and honeyed wine up here. You guys are the real thing," Ivy teased. Leliana swatted at her arm. They moved on, drinking the wine and talking about everything, nothing. Shoes. Nugs. The best kind of leather or cloth for a good armor. The latest news from everywhere—Leliana knew everything, about everyone, and there was so much she hadn't put in her letters. Anyone could read them, after all.

Eventually, when the wine was dry and their cheeks ached from laughing and their backs ached from sitting, Leliana finally said it. She got quiet, first, draining the dregs of her cup. The light from the windows had faded, so they had only the candlelight now.

"I'm going to be the Divine," Leliana said. Ivy reached over, her hands only a little bit unsteady. She clasped Leliana's hands between both of her own.

"You're going to be so brilliant at that," Ivy said. Her words were only a little bit slurred. "You knew even back in Lothering that you were meant for great things. The Maker chose you, remember? You're going to be great. _Great_."

"Thank you, my friend," Leliana said. Her voice was very soft.

They left the bowls and plates in the Chantry, though not on the Altar. Apparently one of the benefits to having a whole huge organization was that someone else would do the housekeeping. They stumbled out into the courtyard garden. Well, Leliana sauntered. Ivy stumbled. She didn't often drink. It was a liability when you were on your own. So her tolerance was next to nothing.

In the garden, lit by torches, a huge Qunari and a short armored Tevinter sparred. It looked like they had been at it for hours. Around them, passing around skeins of something, was a motley crew of rogues and warriors. They all wore similar armor. Ivy and Leliana both stopped, at the edge of the grass, to watch the show.

One last thrust of his huge sword against the smaller man's shield, and the Qunari stopped the sparring match. Sweat glistened on his bare chest. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, surrounded by scars. His horns were immense. She bet she could do pull-ups on those things. How did he get through doors?

"Warden!" the big Qunari said. Ivy blinked at him. Beside her, Leliana laughed. "We were hoping you'd come out soon. The two of you were in there for hours! You want a drink?"

"Ivy, may I introduce The Iron Bull," Leliana said. She gestured between them. "This is apparently how he greets people he wants to impress. The men around him are his mercenary group, the Bull's Chargers. Bull, you clearly already know who Warden Amell is."

"Indeed I do. Saw her come in. I recognized her from the stories," the Iron Bull said. He put his huge sword up across his back. Ivy wasn't sure if she should be reassured or uneasy that this particular man recognized her. "I always wanted to meet you, ma'am. Come on down, have a drink. Half my people here grew up on the legend of how you stopped the Fifth Blight. If you don't come show them you're human, they'll spend all day tomorrow bowing and scraping."

Oh, why the hell not.

"Yeah, sure," Ivy said. Leliana told her and the Iron Bull how to find her so she could show Ivy to her guest quarters when they were done. And then, she was left with the whole raucous mercenary crew. The Bull's Chargers were quiet around her at first, but their leader suggested a drinking game that got them all talking. And it wasn't exactly a game a person could lose, but after that bottle of wine with Leliana Ivy was definitely losing.

Several cups in, the Iron Bull threw a massive arm around her shoulders. He leaned in conspiratorially. As drunk as she was, she still readied a spell in case he tried anything. An attack, a kiss, anything at all- she'd freeze him in a huge block of ice.

"I love redheads," the Iron Bull said. His eye flicked from her face to her bright red hair. "But you, I'm not going to hit on you. The Arishok himself calls you _kadan_. I might not be in the Qun anymore but there's some things you just don't mess with. And the Arishok! If I dared, to, you know, hit on you or whatever, he'd probably appear out of the sky and cut me down."

Ivy had to laugh at that. She let her frozen cone spell dissipate unused.

"Hey, give it a try. I'd love to see Sten again," she said.

It was very, very late by the time Bull escorted her up through the Tower into Leliana's office. But her old friend was still up, of course. Pouring through reports. And she made Ivy walk with her on the battlements outside her tower, drinking water. It was supposed to help her sober up a little before sleep. But mostly it just made her stomach slosh.

Leliana wasn't the only one up. Another room across the courtyard had a light on. She could see through the windows from the battlements. The man inside wore an armored chestplate, leathers, and a huge fluffy cloak. He seemed to be reading reports, much like Leliana. The Inquisition never rested.

Then he rubbed the back of his neck, leather gloves ruffling the blond hair, and a cold pit settled in her stomach. Cullen. That was Cullen. He used to do that exact thing back when he was one of the Templars guarding her.

Back when they were both idiot children.

She remembered him as a gangly young man covered in the spikes of the Templar armor. But he was always kind to her, before the misadventure with Jowan. Better than kind. She knew he stared at her when she was reading in the library but he watched out for her, too, barking at the other Templars and acolytes who thought that her late-night study habits meant she was open to being groped or worse. And he'd carried her down to her bed after her Harrowing. As gentle as he could be, wearing that armor with all its edges.

That was honestly a good way to describe him, wasn't it? As gentle as he could be, for a Templar.

But then she left with Duncan. And the Circle fell. And he survived, which was good, but he didn't survive whole. When she'd found him, just outside the Harrowing Chamber, and he'd told her how he felt about her, her heart leapt in her throat and froze on the next beat. Because all those things she'd wished he would say came tumbling out in venomous spits, full of hatred for everything she was. Everything she represented.

How did he come to be the military commander of the Inquisition? She'd never thought he was that bright. Maybe it was the stammering, maybe it was the fact that he was a Templar and they were all more brawn than brain, but the idea of him training troops and formulating strategies seemed so odd. And more, the Inquisition was friendly to mages. They took in the rebels. Showed mercy to Alexius. Supported mage rights. How was Cullen a part of any of that? He'd suggested wholesale massacre in case of blood magic before.

"I see you found our Commander," Leliana said, beside her. Her friend silently urged her to drink more water. "We can go say hello, if you wish. He would be very happy to see you."

"We both know that's not true," Ivy scoffed. "And anyway, I wouldn't be happy to see him."

"You don't have to. Just, if you do run into him while you're here, I should tell you he's very different than the tortured young man he was when I first saw him," Leliana said. Ivy thought about that. Took a drink of water. The stocky, tall man in the window below didn't look like he had any hard edges. He paced, a scroll held close to his nose. Commander of the Inquisition's Forces. They called him the Lion of Fereldan, now. Especially now that the Inquisition had closed the Breach for good. She'd heard rumors in Orlais that half the Orlesian nobility wanted to marry him. For the social coup, at least, if not for his apparently attractive form.

"He'd have to be," Ivy said.

* * *

No amount of alcohol could make her darkspawn nightmares go away. But it could make her morning, waking up from those nightmares, much worse. Ivy groaned into wakefulness with the light of dawn. It wasn't enough sleep. But she couldn't just roll over and try again, not with the nightmares and this pounding headache.

What she needed was fresh air. Her guestroom was a little musty. It wasn't helping.

She slipped some hardtack from her pack and chewed on it meditatively. Just one, because there was bound to be a kitchen with real food around here somewhere, but she wasn't up for finding it just at the moment. She walked out along the battlements, the outer walls this time. The stonework in this keep was amazing. And the views were incredible. She found a spot where the walls had come down, a little. It looked like something huge had knocked the top of the wall in. She knelt, hardtack finished, and studied the joinders of the rock. It didn't look like magic was still holding it together. Just gravity, now.

"You there." The voice behind her was cold. Clipped. Hoarsely Fereldan. And very familiar. She closed her eyes, reeling a little.

 _Maker turn his gaze on you. No one ever listens. Not until it is far too late. I only pray that your compassion hasn't doomed us all._

The sharpness in his tone was not at all like the young man who'd watched her in the library. It was more like the tormented, bitter, half-mad Templar she'd rescued from the bloodbath in the Tower.

"Mage." He continued, sharp and clipped. Military. She steeled herself for a hand to descend on her shoulder, but it didn't. "I don't recognize your cloak or your staff. Are you new here? What are you doing on the battlements?"

Ivy took a deep breath. Then she stood, and turned around.

He wore the same feathered cloak and soft leathers she'd seen through the window. His hand was on his sword. Ready, as always, to cut her down where she stood. Even though the cloak he wore opened at the chest to show that the Templar symbol was nowhere on his armor.

He was more handsome than she remembered. Age had filled out his jaw, softened his cheekbones. And his hair was smoothed back now. No longer stiff and wiry with tight curls. When he saw her face, he went blank. Smooth as stone. Even his eyes went wide and froze there. She smiled a little tight smile. He did not smile back. He simply stared with absolutely no trace of any expression.

"Hullo, Cullen. Long time no see." Her voice was softer than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat, and gestured at the keep below them. "This place is amazing. If the Inquisition ever disbands, I'll be more than happy to take this place off your hands. The Wardens could really make use of this. Soldiers Peak is crazy haunted, you know, it's really hard to get a good night's sleep there."

"I—Ivy?" Cullen stammered. He was hoarse. Soft, now. He took his hand off his sword and she breathed easier. "What are you—are you actually – what are you doing here?"

"I came to talk to Fiona again. And see if Leliana could help me. I'm looking for a cure to the Calling," Ivy explained. He slowly relaxed out of his stunned blank expression and into something that looked more like anxious disbelief. "Having thirty years to live seemed so reasonable back when the Blight started. But now, it doesn't seem like very much time."

"I can understand that," he said, his voice even softer. He took a half step toward her, but stopped when she tensed.

"It's not just for me," she explained. "I spent so much time putting Fereldan back together. I don't want it to fall apart in twenty years just because Alistair doesn't have an heir. And I kind of feel like time is short. Elena Cousland's not that much younger than I am, her childbearing years are numbered. And our mighty king is so stubborn he'd probably refuse to marry anyone else."

Of course, there was always Keiran. The half-demon bastard heir. But only three people knew about that—herself, Alistair, and Morrigan. And it was going to stay that way. Naming him as the next king would only tear the country apart—he was the son of an apostate, even without all the Old God complications.

"I am sure the Inquisition can help you with that," Cullen said, echoing Leliana's sentiments from the night before. "We've been friends to the Wardens. I—that is, my men will help any way they can. Have you. . . have you met Dorian? He's Tevinter. He might have some insight that we lack here."

"A Tevinter mage?" Ivy asked. She was shocked to see a smile curl Cullen's lip. His scarred lip. When did that happen?

"Among other things. He's also a terrible cheat at chess. But underneath all the bluster he's got a keen mind," Cullen said. Ivy stood and stared at him. Her scrutiny went on long enough that a faint blush rose in Cullen's cheeks and he started shifting his weight from foot to foot. "What?"

"How are you friendly with a Tevinter mage?" Ivy asked. "You? After everything you went through, everything you said."

"Oh." Cullen looked as though someone had punched him in the guts. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. The little familiar gesture tugged at her heart. "I want to—I've wanted to apologize for a long time, and I—you didn't – would you walk with me? On the battlements? You're cornered, between me and that broken stone, and I don't. . . you should be free to move."

"Because you're going to attack?" Ivy said, sardonically. The look Cullen gave her was sadder and more solemn than she expected.

"Because you shouldn't have to worry that I'm going to," he said. "And if I were you, after the last conversation we had, I'd be worried."

That was fair enough. And true. Far too true.

She joined him, walking beside him. He let her take the outermost position, where she could look out over the mountains. It took him several minutes to collect his thoughts enough to speak.

"I've thought about this. What I would say to you if I ever had a chance. I can't remember any of what I decided to say," Cullen said, eventually. Ivy sighed.

"At least your stammer is better," she complimented him. He gave her an odd look.

"I don't stammer," he said. Then his eyebrows rose in realization. "I do have—I struggle to find words. When I speak to you."

Oh. So it was just her, then.

If his crush had made him struggle back when they both lived in the Tower, was it shame or fear that made him struggle now?

"I was wrong," he said, after another long moment. "I should not have said what I said. I think it all comes down to that. I had my reasons, and Maker knows I'd just been through something terrible, but I should never have said any of that. I am sorry."

"Right. Which part? The part about having feelings for me, or the part about how mages are all abominations and you have to oppose everything I am?" Ivy said, her voice tight. Cullen stopped walking and faced her. She stopped, too. It hurt more than it should to talk about this. It was all so long ago. A decade. A lifetime. She should be over it. And she was, she told herself, most of the time. It was just when this man was standing in front of her that she had to think about it. Poke it. And find that it still hurt.

"I shouldn't have said any of it," Cullen said. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. One hand rested on his sword again, in more habit than threat, but that combined with the intensity written in every line of his body made her want to prepare her freezing cone. Just like the night before, with the Iron Bull. "If I wasn't going to tell you how I felt before, when we were both safe and sane, I shouldn't have told you when we were neither of those things. And the rest of it—I told you to kill Irving. Begged you to murder everyone left alive in the Tower. That was. . . I am so glad you didn't do what I asked."

"You were awake for days. Tortured. Leliana said so, at the time. She thought. . " That was probably awkward for them, Ivy realized. To work together when they'd met under such terrible circumstances. "I wasn't going to kill anyone I didn't have to. I'm not a monster. You couldn't have convinced me to do it."

"You're a hero," he said, simply. The tension in his body was leaking out by inches. Was he always this tall? How did he seem bigger with that ridiculous feathered cloak than he had than he did in the imposing Templar armor? "And I'm thankful every day that you had the sense and courage to ignore me."

"Sure." That hero stuff was flattering. Except, "Why wouldn't you tell me, when we were both safe and sane? How you felt? I would have. . . I seem to recall you literally running away from me when I flirted with you. Running. Literally."

That tilted smile curved his lips again. In this light she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. They hadn't changed. Even though he was clean shaven now, and had filled out, the eyes were the same.

"We were in the Tower," he said, as if it explained everything. When she just stared at him, he continued, "If we had. . . become closer, they might have made you Tranquil. For corrupting a Templar. I wouldn't have risked that. Not for anything. I had to run, before someone saw me trying to kiss you right there in the hallway."

Oh.

Her cheeks burned, and the warmth in her chest spread through her whole body. She didn't know what to say. So she just stood there. And he did, too, staring right back at her. Older, hopefully wiser, as Leliana would say. And apparently no longer a Templar.

"That's. . . actually pretty romantic," she said. As romantic as any story she'd ever read. And as many campfires as she'd had to herself over the years, she had read plenty. "But you know, a lot of mages and Templars carry on. Like that. It's usually an open secret."

"Not me," he said. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. His eyes narrowed. "I never understood how those Templars could live with it, with knowing they might be condemning their lover. It couldn't be worth it. We are supposed to- they are supposed to protect people. Not put them in more danger."

"They? Not a Templar anymore?" Ivy asked. She glanced at the open, empty expanse of metal on his chest. He certainly no longer wore the trappings. Cullen's eyes flinched down.

"Not at all. I'm Inquisition now. Body and soul," he said. Which was all well and good, and it was nice to be dedicated to a cause, but Ivy didn't really buy it.

"I mean," she said, "if you still command Templars, and you still know how to drain mana, and you still take lyrium, aren't you a Templar? Whoever you work for."

"I no longer take lyrium." His voice was steady, sure. He stood like a rock in front of her. Like part of the battlement carved out and come to life. He didn't seem insane. Not at all.

"Since. . . when?" Lyrium withdrawal could drive someone mad. Could cause them unbearable pain. Could kill them. He looked all right. He looked better than all right—healthy, if a little tired and stubbly around the edges. He couldn't have been off the lyrium for long.

"Almost two years," he admitted. He smiled at the way her eyes went wide and her jaw fell open.

"You should be dead!" she exclaimed, without thinking. She reached out. She didn't know many healing spells, but she could help a little bit. He suffered her hand on his chest over his armor without comment. His heart seemed to beat steadily. Her senses, magical and otherwise, could detect no unusual strain on him. He was in better shape this morning than she was, after all that drinking last night. "How are you all right?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He didn't move away from her, even though they were now standing close enough to kiss. He just looked down at her, a little proud smile on his face. "But I'm trying to replicate it for others. For anyone who wants to leave the Order. A life of service shouldn't be a death sentence. The Templars deserve better. And—so do the Wardens. You came to the right place, Warden Commander Amell."

Hope rose in her chest for the first time in a long time. She grinned up at him.

"Call me Ivy. Just like old times," she said.


	2. A Game of Chess

Cullen took the stairs up to Leliana's office two at a time. His empty stomach churned.

He'd thought she was a dream, or a ghost. Of all the mages that haunted his nightmares he saw her face the most frequently. But after they spoke for several minutes and she did not turn into a Tranquil, or a desire demon, or a bloody corpse, he was certain he was not dreaming. She looked much the same as she always had. Bright red hair bound up on the back of her head, big gray eyes narrow with sardonic humor. She had a new scar. Just along her jaw, a mottled red like someone had caught her with acid or fire. But the last twelve years were hardly peaceful. He imagined most Fereldans had new scars—himself included.

Leliana was in her rookery, as always. A few of her agents moved quietly through the room even at this hour. Spies never sleep, apparently, something he had in common with them. Leliana herself was caring for her ravens when he rounded the top of the stairs. She glanced at him with a little half smile to let him know she knew he was there, but then she simply continued what she was doing.

Well, she could talk at the same time.

"I just dropped the Hero of Fereldan off in our dining hall," he said, without preamble. Leliana did not so much as raise an eyebrow at his lack of a greeting. "Did you know she was coming?"

"I knew when she arrived. We had a lovely picnic yesterday." Leliana moved from cage to cage, feeding her feathered messengers. "As you know, Ivy Amell is a dear old friend. Did she seek you out?"

"I ran into her on the battlements. She says she's here to find a cure for the Calling. Or, to complete the cure she already has. I told her Dorian would be extremely happy to help. No doubt Fiona and Vivienne will join in," Cullen said. He felt dizzy, and reminded himself to breathe. Seeing her, it reminded him of Kinloch. And nothing that reminded him of Kinloch did him any good. He needed Leliana to tell him something but he couldn't find the words to wrap around the question hammering in his chest.

"I am sure that's true." Leliana's voice was calm, quiet. As always. Especially in her rookery. She wouldn't risk upsetting the birds. She didn't say anything further. He didn't, either. After a very long moment, Leliana asked, "What is on your mind, Commander?"

Commander. Right. Not Knight-Captain. Or Templar. He took a deep breath, remembering the Arbor Wilds and Adamant and all the days and victories between the person he was now and the person he was the last time he saw her. On the day he was released from the torture chamber concocted by the blood mages of Kinloch hold.

"I don't know," he admitted. Leliana couldn't tell him how long Amell would be here. "Why now? The Inquisitor tried to get in touch with her almost a year ago. She didn't come then. We could have used her help."

"We managed," Leliana reminded him. "She has her own responsibilities. Her own worries. As do we all. Ivy has been on her own a very long time, searching for a way to undo the harm she believes she has caused. There is no saving the people she made Wardens when she was at Amaranthine, you know. And I believe she feels some responsibility for the war between the mages and Templars as well. If she had not made Anders a Warden, would the spirit of Justice within him have turned into Vengeance?"

"Of course it would have," Cullen said. He could admit, now that it was far too late, that there was more in Kirkwall for a spirit of Vengeance than one of Justice. Another travesty he'd been a part of. "Anders was an abomination. He looked human, but he wasn't truly human from the moment that spirit became part of him. It was always going to end badly."

Leliana turned around and gave him her undivided attention for the first time in the conversation. She frowned thoughtfully. He'd seen that look on her face right before she suggested elevating Briala instead of saving Celene. It seldom boded well.

"You were stationed in the Fereldan Circle Tower," Leliana said. Not a question, more as a fact that she was just now remembering. "Do you remember Wynne?"

He did. He remembered her as a kindly old mage with a sharp sense of humor and very little patience for tomfoolery among the apprentices. And he knew she went to Ostagar, and then with the Wardens after the Tower was taken over by abominations. He nodded.

"Wynne was an abomination. Technically," Leliana said.

Cullen felt like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. How could that have happened right under his nose? Under Greigor's nose? And Irving's? Wynne was one of the most trusted senior mages in the Tower. If she could be corrupted, if she was in truth an abomination, then the foul creatures could be anywhere. Anyone. Any mage here in Skyhold.

"Don't look so shocked, Commander," Leliana said. His jaw was so tight it practically creaked. He simply glared at her. She'd kept this secret? Even after they took in the mages from Redcliff as allies? He'd advocated for protections for all. Protections Leliana had deemed unnecessary, if he recalled right. And all the while she knew that abominations could walk unnoticed among them.

"She was killed fighting a demon when the Circle Tower came under attack from within," Leliana continued. He noted that she said killed. Not almost killed. "A spirit of Faith came to her. The same sort of spirit that Cassandra says is used to reverse the Rite of Tranquility. Her faith brought that spirit to her, and it kept her body going. Sustained her. It allowed her to heal us all while we fought the Blight. We would have surely failed without her."

She would know. If she said that Wynne, an abomination, was the difference between success and failure then he believed her. And he liked to think he was a practical man. Some ends could justify some means, surely. But abominations were unpredictable. Dangerous. And whatever Wynne did in the past, whatever help she rendered the Wardens, the future was a different story.

"Perhaps that's true," he said. "But, could you tell an abomination like Wynne from a regular mage? Could anyone?"

Could some be hidden at Skyhold right now?

"No. No one would know," Leliana said. She at least did not try to soften the truth. "But let me ask you this, Commander. In your time, have you seen terrible acts carried out by regular men with regular swords and knives?"

"Of course I have." Especially in Kirkwall, after the Chantry exploded and the entire town went mad.

"And could you tell that the people responsible for that bloodshed carried that risk within them before they committed those terrible acts?" Leliana asked.

This conversation was giving him a headache, and it was doing nothing for his blood pressure.

"I take your point," Cullen said. He bowed his head in farewell, and retreated back toward the stairs. Leliana stopped him just as he began to descend by saying his name.

"I do not think Ivy would be upset if you avoided her while she is here," Leliana said. Delicacy—had Ivy said she didn't want to see him? – or exact truth? It probably didn't matter.

"Perhaps I shall," he said. He nodded his thanks, and fled the rookery. Avoiding Ivy Amell was probably a good idea. He'd apologized. He could, probably, apologize again. If the time seemed right. Aside from that, did they really have anything to say to each other?

For the next several days Cullen endeavored to stay out of Warden Amell's way. He quickly discovered that he could avoid speaking with her, but he couldn't avoid seeing her.

When he drilled his troops in the morning, she was in the side bailey with Dorian and the Iron Bull, clearly getting pointers in Dorian's method of using his staff as a cudgel. When he went to eat dinner, she was in the dining hall chatting happily with Leliana and Josephine. He was sure she hadn't previously known the Ambassador, but apparently any friend of Leliana's was a friend of hers. When he went to the library to find a book he could read before bed, she was leaned over a wooden table with Dorian among stacks of huge books.

Worse, now that he saw her in his waking hours, he saw her in his dreams more often. And the dreams were getting worse. He hadn't had this much trouble since right after Haven.

Three days after Amell arrived in Skyhold, he was playing chess in the courtyard garden with Dorian. Trying to get his mind off her. Which was futile, ultimately, because as soon as they set the board up she came out to the garden with a book. Two very young children trailed after her.

She sat down on a bench. The little ones, no doubt the offspring of one of the staff that worked in Skyhold, immediately set to work pulling weeds from the garden. They brought the plants to her. She sorted them into piles next to her on the bench without looking up from her book.

It was a remarkably wholesome pass-time for the star of his worst nightmares.

"It's your move, Commander," Dorian said, with a smirk he could actually hear. Cullen wrenched his attention back to the board in front of him. Dorian was already cheating. No doubt taking advantage of his preoccupation. With a scowl, he did his best to focus on the game.

He managed spectacularly. He focused on the board in front of him so exclusively that he didn't even notice she was standing there and watching them play until she laughed. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Which, of course, made both mages laugh.

His ears burned. He had no doubt they were beet red. With a tight smile, he made his final move- and revenged his damaged pride on the chess board.

"Ugh," Dorian said, sounding almost like Cassandra as he looked down at his captured king. Cullen smirked, not bothering to say the word checkmate. His point was made. But then, to his surprise, Dorian stood up, stretched, and slapped his hand against the Warden's hand. "I'm tagging you in, Ivy. Beat him for me, will you? On behalf of mages everywhere."

"Gladly, Tevinter," Ivy said. Her eyes glinted with mischief. His ears were still burning. But now for an entirely different reason. She sat down across from him and began reordering the pieces. It would be churlish to walk away now. Rude to pretend that he suddenly had pressing business elsewhere. He was trapped by the dictates of courtesy.

"I didn't know you played, Cullen," Ivy said. He wrenched his attention away from his inner monologue and helped her set the board. She chose to play black. Fine by him.

"Ever since I was a child," he admitted. His hands were sweating in his leather gloves. He had to take them off. When did this day get so warm? "Mostly I played with my siblings. I have a sister, Mia, who could give anyone a run for their money. I went to see them after we closed the Breach this last time. Apparently she's been teaching her children her strategies. I almost lost to my six year old nephew."

Her laughter at that admission had him wondering why he ever spoke at all.

"We played a lot in the Circle. But I haven't played in years," she said. She looked at him through her eyelashes, face still tilted toward the board. Was she trying to be coy, or to taunt him? "The Templars never played with us for some reason. I suppose I assumed none of you knew how."

"Oh, no." Four moves in. She was fast. And not bad, really. Maybe he should let her win to encourage her to keep playing. With Dorian, next time. "We played in the barracks all the time. But we were expected to keep a certain distance from our charges. In case of blood mages or abominations, there can be no hesitation. But, I'll admit, I wish now that we had spoken more. Mages and Templars. It was . . . not easier, to cut acquaintances down simply because we never played chess together."

Ivy gave him a very odd look. He couldn't even imagine what she must be thinking. They played in silence for a moment. He found that he did not want the game to end—so he didn't take advantage of the openings she gave him.

"I see people training together in the Inquisition," she said. She watched him while she spoke. As if looking for his reaction. "Mages and soldiers and spies. And Templars, too. Both raw recruits and veterans. Your people have taken everyone in. It's idyllic for now. Was it—was it hard, when you began?"

"There was less friction than you might suppose." He didn't speak about this, much. But she was in the Fereldan tower. She saw the pillars wrapped in viscera, the inside-out bodies of abominations. The Templars who fought to protect blood mages, their minds warped beyond recall. She knew how bad it could get. "Mostly just insults hurled at each other. But the people who joined the Inquisition were not those who wanted conflict. Everyone here has been working toward stability."

"And what future do you see for mages and Templars?" she asked. Her hand hovered over the board. Waiting to hear what he said. It was a serious question from a serious woman. He leaned back and thought of how to phrase his reply. She deserved a real answer.

"I think mages will always be present, and that magic will always be dangerous. Templars are necessary to ensure that as many people as possible are kept safe," he said. Her body stiffened. He knew she was thinking back to his words in Kinloch Hold, too. About opposing everything she was. "But we cannot oppose each other."

She snorted, softly, recognizing the phrase. Her eyes searched his.

"The friction between mages and Templars was always going to erupt into war. The Circles were not set up to foster understanding. Possibly mixed service would do the trick. Healing centers, peacekeeping forces. Something. A common goal is better than a prohibitive structure," he said. He cleared his throat. "And there must be some way to let Templars. . . retire. Without madness. The sacrifice is too great, otherwise, to be sustainable without the binding of the Chantry. We've seen firsthand the way that dependence on lyrium can turn the Order against its purpose."

"You said you were working on that." She moved her piece at last, and blew her hair out of her face with a long breath. She slumped back in her chair as if relieved. "I still can't believe you're off lyrium. That's just. . . that's crazy. Did you put yourself in isolation? Set aside a few months to just rant and rave?"

"Maybe that would have been a good idea. But I was Knight Commander in Kirkwall, and I had to pass off my duties to my second in command. And then there was the journey across the Waking Sea—which was terrible—and then the Conclave blew up and I was helping to build the Inquisition. There simply wasn't time," he said. He realized she was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What?"

"When did you go off lyrium?"

"When I decided to join Cassandra. Before leaving Kirkwall," Cullen said.

"Maker's breath, Cullen," Ivy said. She did not explain her curse. Did that mean she thought him foolish? Brave? A freak? He didn't dare ask. Her queen was poised to take his bishop. He decided to move the piece, instead of sacrificing it in the interest of getting her queen out of position.

They played in silence. He found his eyes wandering. She did not wear robes, but leathers. And she'd left off the chest piece while she read in the warm garden. So at the moment, she wore only her undershirt. And he could see a smattering of light brown freckles across her collarbone. Her bare arms were freckled, too, and burned light pink at the shoulder.

"Did you at least have help? Support? Or did you do it alone?" she asked. He blinked at her. Did he do what alone? Lyrium withdrawal? What other option was there? It was hardly a group activity.

"Inquisitor Lavellan was very sympathetic. His patience with me was remarkable," he said. The Inquisitor had even encouraged him to stay the course when he wavered. Cullen still didn't know how to thank the man for that trust, the opportunity to redeem himself. "And Cassandra watched me to make sure I would not endanger our troops with some miscalculation or carelessness."

"No I mean, like, healers," she said. She waved her hands in a gesture he could only assume was meant to remind him of a healing spell. "I've seen lyrium withdrawal. It looks very painful. But magic can knock you out for the worst of it."

He considered this. Until he'd successfully quit, and knew he would not die of it, his decision to go off lyrium was a secret. A weakness in the Inquisition that no one needed to know they could exploit. And after that, it was hardly necessary. He could handle some headaches and nightmares.

"There was no need," he said. She huffed.

"Well, if you decide you'd like some help with any lingering symptoms, tell me. I'm not bad at little stuff like that. Wynne taught me," she said.

Ah, yes. Wynne the abomination.

Perfect.

"You're right," she continued, blissfully unaware of the unease that gripped him at the reminder she'd traveled with an abomination for months on end. "Templars need a way out. I've had that we-sacrifice-all-for-you crap laid on me more times than I can count. They. . . resent us. Especially as they get older."

"Mm," he agreed. She was getting close to checkmate. He might as well let her. He moved a rook, giving her a clear path. Two moves later she had him. "Ah. I believe the game is yours."

She grinned, and he smiled to see it. When she smiled openly like that she looked a lot more like the young hellion he remembered from the Circle. Less tired, less gray, than the Warden she was now.

"That was a close game. You're smarter than you look," she said. Her words hit him like a bucket of icy water. He felt his cheeks and ears burning, and his throat got tight with outrage. Smarter than he looked?

"Well." He swallowed, hard, and forced an urbane smile. He couldn't let that stand. Not for an instant. The warrior in him couldn't ignore a challenge that blatant. "Would you indulge me with another? I so rarely get to play with anyone besides Dorian."

"Sure," she said. And she began resetting the board. "Dorian cheats, you know."

"I know." He helped her reset. He let her pick her color again. After all, it hardly mattered. He focused on beating her as swiftly and brutally as possible. He had her in twelve moves. He could do better than that.

"Now, now, don't take it easy on me," he told her. She frowned. "Let's try that again. Really try this time. You can't get complacent."

This time he had her in ten moves.

"Come on, Amell. I said, don't go easy on me. You can do better than that," he said. She resorted to cheating. It was the same stunt Dorian liked to pull. He took great satisfaction in beating her despite her unfair advantage.

"You let me win the first time," she blurted out. He laughed, long and loud, and no one was more surprised to hear that sound come from his mouth than him. When he stopped laughing, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of her mouth. She watched him with narrow eyes and a twitching smile.

"My lady. I am Commander of the Inquisition. And this is a _game_." He felt his mouth stretch into a grin. "A very fun game. But these troops don't wear out their shoeleather or get sick."

She leaned back. Now it was her turn to go pink in the ears. Her hand fluttered to lie on the pulse point at the base of her pale throat.

"Do you think you could teach me to be better?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, before he thought about it. But really, fun as it was to rub her face in how deeply she'd underestimated him—smarter than he looked? – he wasn't interested in regular chess lessons. It would be very hard to avoid her if they were sitting out here playing together. "But, ah, why would you want to? You're a perfectly competent player."

"Same reason I had Leliana teach me her tumbling and singing, and the same reason I want Dorian to teach me how to beat genlocks over the head with my staff," she said. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. "The easiest way to pick up a new skill is to have someone show you. And I'll be damned if I let anyone beat me into the ground the way you just did."

He respected that. In fact, he respected it too much to go back on his offer to teach her. Damnit.

"All right." He glanced up at the position of the sun. "But the afternoon is growing very long. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

 _They were in the Chantry. Kirkwall's Chantry, with its beautiful windows all blown out and its arching roof open to the sky. Blood stained the walls. Blood, and worse things. The bodies of the faithful, damaged in the blast, lined each aisle. But there was a clear path up the middle. From where he stood, Ivy Amell bound before him, to Meredith._

 _Meredith gleamed in the light, a statue of red lyrium that called him closer. His brethren stood by her side, red crystals erupting from their skin. His own skin itched. He began to march Ivy up the aisle. She was crying. And he wanted to stop, but he was really just watching himself move. He couldn't change anything, couldn't do anything._

 _Her hands were bound behind her back with ropes. He could see where the rope had cut into her skin, left it oozing blood. She was calling his name. And then she fell, feet twisted in her long robe. He picked her up, just as he had the morning of her Harrowing, and he carried her to Meredith. He set her down on her feet in front of the red statue. When she swayed, he held her up by her bound hands._

" _Ivy Amell," the statue of Meredith said. "You are charged with corruption of a Templar and with helping a blood mage escape. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"_

" _I did nothing wrong!" Ivy protested. She struggled. He held her in place. He felt her will building, and ruthlessly smote her. She only kept her feet because he held her up._

" _On the contrary," Meredith's statue said. "Fetch the brand."_

" _Knight-Commander," he heard himself say. His own voice, but he was only hearing it. Just as he was only seeing his own hands holding Ivy still. "When she helped the blood mage escape she broke into the repository of phylacteries. We should search her to make sure she did not remove any others."_

" _Good work, Captain," Meredith said._

 _He opened Ivy's robe. She was crying, with as much dignity as she could muster. But she cried harder when he pulled her robe open. He yanked it down, back, exposing her breasts and stomach. Her fair skin was freckled all the way down._

" _Please don't," Ivy whispered, but he didn't stop there. He stripped her entirely. Her robes draped over her bound hands, another cord by which to hold her. Her pale skin had goose pimples in the remains of the chantry. The sweat on her body gleamed in the moonlight._

 _He kept one hand on the swell of her hips and one on the mound of cloth that covered her bindings. And held her still. She trembled against him. One of the other Templars, red crystals growing out of his face, brought the brand. She struggled, and he wrapped his arm around her naked stomach to keep her still. Her rear pressed against the front of his hips, curving against him. The other Templar drew closer._

 _Just before the brand hit her flesh, she screamed. And the moment she did the red lyrium burst from his chest._

* * *

Cullen woke in a cold sweat. His heart was racing, his stomach churning with shame. He gulped in lungfuls of fresh air, and stared at his Spartan room in the moonlight that came through his broken roof. There were no shadows for anything to hide behind. Nothing there for his mind to seize upon so it could play tricks on him.

It only took a few minutes to get his shaking hands under control. To let his heartbeat slow down. But the shame remained.

What kind of a monster dreamed things like that?

In the dark, alone, Cullen prayed.


	3. Morrigan Returns

Ivy kind of loved Skyhold.

It was weird, being around so many people after so much time on her own. The keep operated like a small town, only more crowded. But she found, after she got used to it, that she loved it. It reminded her of the Circle, back when she was a young girl. Except more vibrant, more electric. The question popping out of every mouth was, what kind of future do we want to build?

Everyone seemed to have a different answer. From the green-eyed dwarven Scout Harding to Leliana's sweet friend Josie, each person seemed to have a different vision. But all of them wanted to break free of the shadows of the past.

What was better was, she might have gotten her answer.

She was close before. Dorian, Vivienne and Fiona confirmed her suspicions. And the four of them had built on what she had before so quickly she could hardly believe it. When it was just her, out in the wilderness, she doubted that she did her calculations right. The worst thing she could do would be to try to cure the Taint and end up dooming people to something worse. The Taint was, at least, a known evil.

But now that she'd run it past several other brilliant mages she finally felt like she could trust her answers. As soon as Morrigan got back and had a look at it, she'd know for sure. Morrigan knew things no one else knew. Her arcane knowledge was far-reaching and incredibly obscure. If there was anything she'd looked over, anything she'd gotten wrong, Morrigan would know.

She had to wait in Skyhold five days for her old friend to return.

Fortunately, there was plenty to do. Dorian, when he wasn't wrapping Inquisitor Lavellan around his finger, was a delightful training partner. He really knew how to whap a demon. The Iron Bull invited her drinking every night – she usually refused. She got to play Wicked Grace with Varric Tethras, one of her favorite authors. And each afternoon Cullen played chess with her. After that first game he was brisk, businesslike, and entirely professional. Seeing him every day was helping her ease past some of her initial trepidation. Leliana was right. He was a much different person. He didn't even stammer much, while she was around.

And apparently this whole time he was brilliant. She'd gone with Dorian to Cullen's office one afternoon and seen his bookshelves. It was all tactics and economics, supply lines and military philosophy. Every book was peppered with little dry leaves, apparently in use as bookmarks. So it wasn't just chess. The man was hiding a real brain behind that stony, muscle-bound exterior.

As well as a major willpower, to go off lyrium without even a healer's support. If he had any aptitude for it he would have made a decent mage.

She was out in the garden playing with him when Morrigan arrived. Naturally, being Morrigan, she couldn't just waltz up and say hello. She took the form of a raven, much like one of Leliana's ravens, and hopped around on the stones near where Cullen and Ivy played. But Ivy would know Morrigan anywhere, in any form. She gave the raven a bare glance. Made her move.

"You know, Commander," Ivy said, making her voice sultry. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, his brows drawing down. "I don't think I ever properly paid you back for that humiliation at Kinloch Hold."

That sounded enough like a challenge. Ivy gathered her will, not all in a rush, but trickling a little every second like it did when she was overcome with emotion. Morrigan would know she was gathering her will. She had to hide it somehow. Unfortunately, it sounded enough like a challenge to Cullen, too. And even without the lyrium in his system he could feel what she was doing.

"I- what?" he said. And he started to stand up. Before he could do or say anything else, which would doubtless prove embarrassing for them both, she dispelled Morrigan's shapeshifting spell.

The black-haired mage unfurled out into her true form, cursing and flailing. Ivy laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Inch by inch, Cullen settled down, and stared at the both of them.

"Ivy! You did that on purpose!" Morrigan howled. She looked very undignified sprawled out on the cobblestones. "You know how uncomfortable that is!"

"Don't try to sneak up on me, then!" Ivy gasped in the middle of her laughter. She clutched at her stomach, cheeks aching form smiling so wide. "Sorry, Cullen. I didn't mean to alarm you."

"No . . . no harm done," he said. He stood, and gave them both a little half bow. "I'll leave you ladies to it."

With that, he left. Ivy grinned down at Morrigan, who eventually stopped scowling at her. And that was practically the same as smiling for Morrigan.

"Where's Kieran?" Ivy asked. Morrigan stood and dusted off her purple skirts.

"The boy is in the kitchen. At his age, food is always welcome," Morrigan said. Ivy gestured toward the seat Cullen had vacated. Morrigan took it. But she did not bother the chess board. "Before you ask, he is very well. A far gentler soul than I at the same age. I can only hope. . . I do not ruin him."

"You won't ruin him, Morrigan," Ivy said. She felt a pang of guilt at her trick now. It wasn't very like Morrigan to say things like that. Ivy had met the young boy four years before, and found him to be a little unsettling but by no means dangerous. He really did seem to be just a child. "You care about the effect your actions have on him. That's already one up on your mother."

"Funny you should mention my mother." Morrigan's voice was very mild. Her golden eyes flashed. "I happened to run into her recently."

The bottom dropped out of Ivy's stomach. She lurched forward, eyes wide.

"That's not possible," Ivy insisted. She had killed Flemeth. Over her own misgivings. The old abomination had saved her life, after all, but she truly couldn't imagine letting a child-consumer live out their immortal life. Not if she could break that chain.

"So I thought. You did say you killed her, yes?" Morrigan said. Under the sharpness in her eyes there was hurt. Morrigan was so slow to trust. Ivy knew it would devastate her if she thought Ivy had lied.

"I swear, Morrigan. Your mother turned into a dragon, and we cut her down. It was all Alistair, Sten, Zevran and I could do to kill her. I would not have lied to you about this. I would have simply told you I couldn't do it," Ivy insisted. Morrigan closed her eyes, briefly, in relief. Then she continued on as if nothing had happened.

"It is possible. My mother, apparently, is Mythal," Morrigan said, slowly. Ivy slapped her hand down on the chess board.

"She's what?"

Morrigan explained all she'd learned about Mythal, the Well of Sorrows, and the eluvians. They were out talking about how to turn into a dragon—which Ivy very much wanted to replicate – when Kieran found them.

He was a serious-looking little boy, who resembled no one and nothing so much as Morrigan herself. He even had her golden eyes.

"Good evening, Warden," Kieran said. And it was evening now, she realized. They'd spoken for hours. "Where's your mabari?"

"Grim Ghram is too old to come adventuring. He's retired now, in the Warden compound in Denerim." Her beloved mabari had been put out to stud. Which he clearly loved. And she supported that—it wouldn't do to have the mabari go the way of the griffons. But she often missed her little slobbery pal. "But how are you, Keiran? I haven't seen you in four years!"

"I've made friends here in Skyhold. Particularly Cole," Kieran said.

"Cole is a spirit of Compassion that's taken the form of a young man. I believe the Inquisitor has been looking after him," Morrigan said. Fascinating. She would never have thought that a place as rife with Templars as this would harbor a straight up spirit. Even most mages would have an issue with that. And common folk, unused to magic at all? The spirit's form must truly be convincing, or the people would panic.

"Mother, you need dinner as well," Kieran said. He had the exact formal tones his mother used. That made Ivy smile. But she reached out to stop her friend.

"I actually wanted to show you this work I've been doing on curing the Calling." She grimaced in apology. "I know it's late, but—"

"Ivy," Morrigan interrupted her. "Will you still have the Taint tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"Then I will look at it tomorrow," Morrigan said. She stood, and took her son's hand. "Goodnight. It truly is good to see you."

"Uh. Goodnight!" Ivy said. Keiran waved her goodbye.

So, she was just left with a half-played chess game and nothing to do.

Great.

She could join the crowd in the tavern, maybe catch some of her new acquaintances for a game of Wicked Grace. But she was short on coin and apparently entirely unable to hold her drink. So, maybe not that. Leliana would be busy debriefing her agents this time of day, and this was about the time Josephine usually answered letters. After the way she'd yanked him into her little trick it was doubtful Cullen would want to finish their game.

Maybe she'd just get a book.

The library was lit mostly by lanterns, since the sun was so close to set. And in the latter part of the dinner hour it was all but deserted. The only people there were Hellisima, the tranquil who conducted animal research, and Cullen.

Maybe him being here was a sign. A sign that if she apologized nicely, he'd still teach her how to be better at chess.

He saw her coming long before she spoke to him, and gave her a lazy little wave hello. But he didn't seem exactly happy to see her.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she said, by way of greeting. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"For mentioning Kinloch Hold?" he said. His eyes slid back to the shelves. Oh. Of course. As bad as the memory of that place was for her, it had to be much worse for him. She'd swept through the returning hero, sickened by what she saw but largely unscathed. He was tortured for days.

"Yes. And—for saying you humiliated me." That was what she thought the initial apology was supposed to be for. "It was all so long ago, it seems . . . I forget. That it's not long enough. You know?"

"I do, in fact." He sighed, and fixed her with a glum look somewhere between frustration and glowering. "I had a lot of the after effects under control. Seeing you again. . . reminds me."

"Oh." She hadn't considered that. That being around her might be unpleasant for him. But it made sense. She might be a hero to a lot of people, but most of the folks she met back when she was doing her heroics were meeting her on the worst day of their lives. It wasn't her fault, exactly, but it was something she had to be aware of.

"Not that you—" Cullen rubbed his face with his hands. "Maker."

"It's okay. I'm sorry." She felt like such an ass. "I don't know if you can trust this, but I promise I have full control of my magic. I am absolutely no threat to you."

"Maker's breath, Ivy, I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid for you," he snapped. He clamped his mouth shut so fast he heard his teeth snap together. She just stared at him. He wasn't making any sense.

Cullen sighed, and moved closer to her. He stopped within arm's reach and leaned his head down, so no one else could hear them. The rookery was just above, the mosaics just below, so she knew he had cause to be afraid he'd be overheard. But this close to him, she could see the gold flecks in his eyes and the glint of stubble on his cheeks. She swallowed, hard.

"When it was worst, in Kinloch Hold, the demons never showed me illusions of you hurting me," he said, quietly. His eyes were steady on hers. "They showed me your death. You coming to the rescue, a proud Gray Warden, only to be cut down. Or to be revealed as a desire demon."

"Oh." She didn't know what else to say. His eyes flicked from her eyes to her mouth and back, and her insides clenched. What would she do if he kissed her? Her heart was pounding.

"I wanted to be a Templar. With my whole heart, I chose that path," he said. His voice was hoarse now. Was he leaning in closer? "I would not have shrank from illusions of my own death. That was only expected, from the moment we learned there were abominations in the Tower."

So, the demons had delved into his thoughts. And found her.

She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or not.

"Now that I see you every day, I can't get those images out of my mind," he admitted. It was a big truth to trust her with. She nodded, to show she understood. His arms were right there. Within reach. She could put a comforting hand on his forearm, if she wanted.

But she didn't.

"It's probably hard to concentrate on playing chess when you keep seeing my dismembered corpse in your mind," she said. His smile widened. Good, she was on the right track. "I understand that. If I were to tell you some of the nightmares I've had since my Joining, your hair would turn white. To see a familiar face in dreams like that. . . it doesn't help if you know it's not real. So I can understand that you'd be uneasy, remembering the illusions."

"Exactly," he said, and he stepped back. She mustered her discipline and didn't follow him. Just because it had been a few years since anyone had shared her bed—or tent, as it were – didn't mean she could follow a pair of pretty eyes around meeping for attention. Instead, she gave him a reassuring smile.

"If it would be easier for you, we can stop the chess lessons," she offered. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I only wanted to learn because, well, I'm super competitive. It's not a priority."

"No, I—I'd rather remember you as my chess partner," he said. His eyes were so warm they practically glowed. She had to swallow hard again. "We can keep playing."

"The game we left behind is unfinished," Ivy said. She immediately regretted it, because saying it made her sound desperate for company. Besides, he was gently shaking his head.

"It's better to start fresh. All we'd learn by finishing that game is that I'm still better than you," he teased. It was the first time he'd ever teased her. She couldn't help but grin wide and squeeze her arms in her hands to keep herself from doing or saying anything foolish.

"Right. Well—do you have any book recommendations? There's no one to talk magic with up and about, and I don't think my stomach or my wallet can take another night in the tavern," she said. He frowned judiciously.

"I was looking for a history on the Chantry, myself. Something, ah, boring enough to lull me to sleep. Don't tell Cassandra I said that," he said. He pulled a book off the shelf. "I don't know if you've read this one, but the political intrigue around the time of the first Inquisition makes for pretty fascinating reading."

"Oh, no, I've read that one," Ivy assured him. "Is there anything in here on Tevinter?"

"I think Dorian's absconded with most of it," Cullen said. But he helped her look through the shelves. They both kept finding things they'd read, and talking about them. She steadfastly refused to read anything by Genitivi "on account of the fact that I know that little guy," and he kept recommending books on history and philosophy she'd already read. It turned out he was less familiar with folk tales, however, and she gave him several more recommendations than he gave her. They did both ultimately decide, after more than an hour of happily browsing, that it would be rude to the librarians to borrow more than one book at a time. So they spent another hour discussing the pros and cons of each book they wanted to read, particularly its suitability for reading at this exact, very late, moment.

Eventually, cheeks aching from smiling, books in hand, they went their separate ways. Ivy sent Cullen off with a treatise on the creation of famous magical items, and he sent her off with a book of military history that he promised she'd find interesting. Which would be a first.

It seemed wasteful, extravagant even, to burn candles at night just for reading. But everyone else seemed to be doing it. To Ivy's amusement, and a little bit of chagrin, she did find the book interesting. It had just the right mix of gore and high drama to keep the historic accounts fun.

She'd have to go to Cullen for more book recommendations.


	4. Cole Suggests Flowers

_His hands were covered in blood and shards of red lyrium. Maker willing, they wouldn't bore into his skin. If Varric was right about how contagious this stuff was it was only a matter of time._

 _Maddox leaned against the wall of Samson's workshop. Beaten, bloody, like he was just before he was made Tranquil. Cullen remembered that day. Remembered the tinge of unease that tugged at his heart when Meredith brought out the brand. And he remembered, especially, how he'd ignored it. And let Maddox lose his soul without a murmur of protest._

 _All for writing love letters._

" _He deserves a decent burial," the Inquisitor said, and Cullen promised he'd look into it. But then they had to find Maddox's tools, to take to Dagna. To try to break Samson's armor._

 _And that was when he found it._

 _A wig, it looked like, of bright red hair, draped over the pommel of a sword. Except it wasn't a wig. It was a scalp. And he knew someone who liked to put her red hair up in that intricate braided knot._

 _His blood felt like it was on fire, but his stomach was a pit of ice._

 _He found next a hand, delicately boned but full of callouses, with the scrape he'd noticed playing chess yesterday. And then a thigh. Muscled, cut apart at the bones like a haunch of beef. The skin was dusted with freckles._

 _Her staff, plain gnarled wood, leaned against a shelf, on which a cauldron sat. Fear curdling in his guts, he looked in the cauldron._

 _In a pool of blood her face floated. Beautiful, perfect, every freckle in place. Her wide gray eyes seemed to be smiling, to match the curve of her lips. When she opened her mouth the blood rose up, bubbling._

* * *

Cullen woke cursing and drenched in sweat.

As usual.

They were getting worse.

If only Solas were here, he could ask the elf about his dreams. Solas knew everything worth knowing about the Fade. Maybe Cullen was being plagued by a demon, and if he killed it he'd get a decent night's rest. Or maybe there was some kind of tea he could drink, or cantrip he could recite, just to stop seeing these things when he closed his eyes.

What if the nightmares didn't stop after she left? After she moved on?

He rose from his bed with a groan. It was nearly dawn anyway.

He washed the cold sweat off and changed into fresh clothes. Then he walked out on the battlements. He often did, first thing in the morning, just to get the fresh air in his lungs and chase the dreams out of his head. Then he warmed up in the courtyard with the early rising recruits and started on drills.

No army can function properly without daily drills.

He retreated to the stairs above the courtyard to watch when the morning dragged on and the bailey grew too crowded. Of course, that was about the time she showed up.

She seemed fine. Laughing with the Iron Bull, stretching and twirling her staff. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and check her for wounds, after that dream. Run his hands over skin that had never been cut, over a body that was warm and alive and safe. Most of all, safe.

But he didn't move, because that was ridiculous.

"She was never afraid of you. Only sad that you did not trust her," Cole said, behind him. Cullen closed his eyes and silently prayed to the Maker for patience. Cole was the last person he wanted to deal with at the moment. His internal thoughts should stay inside his head. It was bad enough he had to think them without airing them out in the common space.

"Good morning, Cole," Cullen said. Not encouragingly. He glanced at the young man and noticed he was holding flowers. "Who are the flowers for?"

"Maryden," Cole said, sighing. Oh, God, he sounded very human when he did that. Cullen glanced from the flowers to Cole's face and tried not to wonder if spirits could grow up and start wanting to court people. "She loves to get flowers with her breakfast. The best flowers grow behind Cassandra's practice dummies, if you ever decide to get Ivy flowers."

Ah, yes. Just what he wanted. Advice on how to make an absolute fool of himself.

"Thank you," he said, quellingly.

"The shadows sing to them, and then the song is all they hear," Cole said. He was watching Ivy move, his hat low over his eyes. Reading her, no doubt. Or at least commenting on her. Cullen decoded that sentence as being about the Warden's taint. "They become the darkness they fear."

Maker knew what that meant.

"Ivy's trying to help the Wardens. You like helping people, don't you?" Cullen said. Cole glanced up at him, surprised. For a moment he looked like a normal boy.

"She's soft inside. Like you. I think she'd like the flowers," Cole said. Cullen sighed.

"Thank you for the advice," he replied. With less vitriol than the first time.

"You'll wish you'd taken my advice when she tells you she's going to be the one," Cole said. He shrugged in that lanky, uneasy way he had, and shuffled off. "You'll wish a lot of things then."

"Thank you, Cole," Cullen said, between clenched teeth.

He could not wait to find out what that meant.

It sounded. . . bad.

Fortunately, there was plenty to do to keep his mind off it. Finishing drills, working out supply lines to their remote fortress- fewer people wanted to help, now that the Breach was no longer a threat, and it added to their challenges. He knew Josephine in particular was scrambling to find the role of the Inquisition in this new world.

Maybe they didn't have one. Maybe their days were numbered.

When his headache made reading reports impossible, he took a walk on the battlements. All the way around. Through the new mage tower the Inquisitor decided that Skyhold needed, and around to where the high walls overlooked the courtyard. Dorian was already there, whispering into a crystal. He stopped and smiled when he saw Cullen, and dropped the rock back onto his chest.

"If it isn't my favorite Commander, come to take the air. What brings you to this remote corner?" Dorian asked. Cullen shrugged, and gestured at the necklace Dorian wore.

"Just walking a bit. What's that you're wearing?" he asked. Dorian touched it, half consciously, and smiled brightly. Cullen knew that smile. It was the same one Dorian wore when he was about to cheat at chess.

"Long range communication. Marvelous, isn't it? I'm testing the enchantment. Still needs a few little tweaks. But it is, of course, brilliant," Dorian said. Cullen nodded in understanding. It must be difficult, when the Inquisitor left Skyhold and Dorian didn't join him. Their romance was one of the things the Chantry truly distrusted about the Inquisitor, but neither man cared. Nor should they.

"I'm sure Lavellan will return from the Emerald Graves soon," Cullen said, answering the things that Dorian did not say aloud. The dark-haired mage nodded in understanding, and thanks.

Cullen leaned over the ramparts, watching the courtyard below. Just as he suspected, Ivy was there with Morrigan. The two of them seemed to be in a heated debate, but not an angry one. Just two scholars arguing over whose perspective was most right.

"Is it possible?" Cullen asked. Dorian joined him at the rampart. "Can the Joining be reversed?"

"Of course. I believe we could do it today, if we had a Gray Warden handy that no one would mind losing," Dorian said. Cullen snorted. "It's always experimental. Always a risk, the first time. Or the fifth time even. What's worse, I believe you southerners would call it blood magic. No one will be sacrificed, I assure you, but the Taint is carried in the blood. And it has to be removed."

"Why would. . ." Cullen paused, thinking of how to say it. "Why now? If it were possible, wouldn't someone have done it before?"

"That's the rub, isn't it. I don't think so. You have to consider what Thedas was like just a few short years ago. The Templars had their Chantry, or vice versa, and were tied to obedience by their dependance on lyrium. And the Chantry's control of the lyrium trade. Southern mages had their Circles, and their phylacteries. Plenty of control there. Orlesian nobility has the Great Game, still, and you can't tell me that lethal nonsense doesn't get incredibly predictable over time." Dorian gestured at the two women debating magic down below. "The Gray Wardens have a sad lot in life, but the dangers they posed to the common order were understood. Controlled. Historically it was a good place to send political rivals to get them out of your hair. Everyone knew they couldn't have children or engage meaningfully in politics. Everyone but your friend Ivy, that is, who made a career out of meddling for all she was worth."

"The woman did pick two kings," Cullen agreed.

"Indeed. What I'm saying is, people who have power want to keep the power they have, and they want to get more. You always need more. These utterly committed armies of the faithful, like the Templars and the Gray Wardens, they make for excellent tools." Dorian waved a hand as if to ward off protests. "I know the Gray Wardens themselves are not supposed to be tools used by anyone but. . . they can be. We utilized some ourselves to fight demons in southern Orlais. They're a fearsome force precisely because there is no turning back. They never retire, never desert. They fight like madmen because they have nothing to lose. You change that? And they're just like any other army."

"I find that a regular army is quite sufficient," Cullen said, dryly. Adamant came to mind, particularly. The legendary martial prowess of the Wardens hadn't helped them much then.

"Exactly. You do. The Inquisition does. All of Thedas is being remade in a new image, and the new Thedas is much more concerned about creating good things than keeping forces in reserve to deal with the bad. You're trying to get Templars to a place where they can go off lyrium safely, Cassandra and her little band of surviving Seekers is reversing Tranquillity. In some special cases. And Ivy wants the Wardens to be able to leave the taint behind. Just think how much better they'll be when they have their hearts in this world instead of the next."

"You can be resigned to your death but still have your heart in this world," Cullen said, without thinking. Maudlin thought. But then, the old days in the Circle were very much on his mind of late. Dorian waved this away.

"Oh, come now, don't pretend that all this truth and justice folderol gives you breath in the morning. I'm talking about truly caring for the future. Having someone to share it with. Children, if that's your particular thing," Dorian said. Cullen looked at him, expecting to see Dorian giving him that look that meant he was teasing, but the other man looked pinched. Tired.

"Are you and Lavellan talking about children?" Cullen asked. It was more than possible to take in a small child, if they wanted. Or five or six. The recent war left too many orphans to count. If he were more of a domestic man, or if he'd been married, he would surely have taken several in himself. But Dorian laughed.

"Sweet Maker, no. Can you imagine me with spit-up on my well tailored clothes? Unreasonable." He shifted, his stance wider, and smiled more like the smug, carefree man he generally was. Tuning that communication stone must have truly put Dorian in a mood, but it was good to see it was lifting. "But I can quite picture you with tiny creatures clutching at your pant legs. It would be just like having your own little army of raw recruits to whip into shape."

"Perhaps. Someday," Cullen said. His eyes found Ivy in the courtyard. She was gesticulating wildly, and nearly knocking herself off the bench. He hadn't ever really found someone he wanted to share his life with. Which, to be fair, wasn't something that was even possible until recently. Until he owned his own mind, instead of owing it to lyrium. As a Templar, he was no fit mate for anyone. As a recovering addict he was far too damaged.

Maybe he still was. Could he picture himself taking a woman to bed if all he was going to do was thrash and curse and recite cantrips after his nightmares woke him? He couldn't even bring himself to patch the roof. The fresh air and moonlight helped in a way nothing else could.

Any woman he'd be interested in would be able to do better for herself than a cranky old general who had to sleep in a room without a proper roof and who woke her with his shaking and cursing.

"That reminds me, actually, of a question I had," Dorian said. His gaze followed Cullen's down to where Ivy was sitting. "I understand you and the Warden knew each other back in the Circle. What was she like, before she became the unstoppable juggernaut all of Fereldan loves to praise?"

Cullen hadn't expected that question. He was braced for someone, anyone, to ask about their previous relationship. And that one was easy to answer. They didn't have one. They were just acquaintances. His schoolboy infatuation was not anyone's business and it couldn't possibly have impacted her life all that much. But this, he had to think about. He watched the sunlight gleam off the beads she wore in her hair. She'd been in his nightmares too long. It was strange to see her in the light- but a good kind of strange.

"She was kind," he said, eventually. "To everyone. Even me, and I was a tongue-tied young fool. She liked to study long after everyone else had stopped and gone to their dormitories. I think she practically lived in the library. And, of course, she was a fantastic mage. Even then. I was at her Harrowing, and I've never seen one faster or cleaner."

"So, no surprises there. It's always a shock, isn't it, when a famous person ends up being better than their stories," Dorian said. He sighed. "Unfortunately, none of the more salacious stories are true. I asked. I only tell you because I know for a fact that you've heard them, and that you will never indulge your natural curiosity."

Dorian was right on both counts. Rumors about the Hero of Fereldan abounded. And they ranged from the relatively tame- that she had a secret marriage to Nathaniel Howe, or to the King himself - to the extremely physically improbable. He wasn't exactly sure how many people could fit in a bed at once but he was certain the answer wasn't four humans, an elf, a dwarf, a qunari, and a stone golem.

"You're right that I wouldn't ask," Cullen said, primly. Dorian flashed him a grin.

Below, in the courtyard, she burst out laughing at something Morrigan said. But Morrigan didn't join her- in fact, she looked quite cross. He could admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that he was still drawn to Ivy. Whether it was because of the terror of his nightmares or simply because she was a beautiful woman, he found his heart eased when he saw she was happy. His eyes kept finding her in a crowd. And it didn't matter, really, if the reassurance he felt was because his nightmares were clearly not true or because it was simply nice to see. Until she left Skyhold it seemed a small enough indulgence to permit himself. There couldn't be any harm in looking at her.

Morrigan rolled her eyes heavenward, and in so doing she glimpsed him and Dorian standing on the battlements. Dorian responded to her glower with a cheery wave. Ivy, still grinning, followed Morrigan's gaze upward and saw the pair of them looking down at her.

His knuckles were white, gripping the stone.

She returned Dorian's wave. Cullen couldn't quite bring himself to wave back. What on Earth was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. He was just standing here. A place he had every right to be.

"Oh dear," Dorian said. Cullen glanced at him and found the mage watching him with narrowed eyes. But then Dorian smiled, and strode off toward the stairs with a waggle of his fingers. Cullen didn't even have time to ask him what he meant. But he knew whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

Scowling, Cullen returned to his office. He had work to do, and no time for this foolishness. The next time he saw Dorian hanging around on the battlements he'd just nod.


	5. A New Beginning

The time was coming. Ivy was winning them over to her plan. Slowly but surely. No one liked the idea of her being the one to first test the ritual they'd dreamed up, but she was insistent. She told them it was because she, as a truly gifted mage, stood a better chance of noting any problems in the ritual as it was ongoing. She told them it was because she'd slain an Archdemon and she was unkillable. No one really bought that one. But her real reason hadn't won her any points with the mages of Skyhold.

She wasn't going to order one of her people to be the first to try something she was unsure about. If she didn't trust the magic enough to try it herself, she wasn't going to let someone else go first. That was where Warden Commander Clarel went wrong. She could learn from the other woman's mistakes and make better choices. Or, at a minimum, new and different mistakes.

They'd talked her into wating until Inquisitor Lavellan returned from the Emerald Graves. Leliana wanted to send for Alistair, but Ivy talked her out of it. The big lummox would insist on taking this risk himself, crown and line of succession be damned. He was her best friend and she knew he saw this the exact same way she did- except he figured he outranked her. Since he was King. And the highest-ranked person gets to make the call, that was one of his personal mottos.

No, if it worked, if she got rid of the Taint and survived, they could send for him. Get him married off to that Cousland heiress he'd lost his head over. All of his letters were about how wonderful Elena Cousland was. Ivy had never met her, but if she wasn't an inhumanly perfect angel with hair made out of literal gold who ate lightning and crapped thunder it would be a huge letdown. Reading his accounts of their interactions- taking it all with a grain of salt - it seemed Elena felt the same way about him. No one would sit through his four hour puppet shows if they weren't in love with him.

Fiona had suggested she wait to perform the ritual until the Inquisitor returned. Lavellan was, after all, an accomplished mage in his own right. And as a Dalish he knew things the rest of them would not be exposed to. She was willing to wait. He was supposed to return in a day or two. It wasn't that long.

Besides, she had plenty to keep her busy. She was just about getting the hang of Dorian's staff wielding methods. To make it work, she needed a heavier staff. But Skyhold was full of the things.

Ivy woke just before dawn and pulled on her leathers. As was her routine, for the past several days, she met Dorian in the dining hall. Usually they'd eat a leisurely breakfast, drinking tea and munching on toast until they wandered out into the bailey with the rest of the people training. But this morning, by the time she got there he had two big mugs of tea and a basket of bread already.

"Good morning, my dear," he greeted her. He picked up the tea and handed it to her, then grabbed the basket. "We're going to have a little picnic this morning. I want to treat you to the best show in Thedas."

"Please don't tell me we're going to peek into the barrack showers or anything," she said. He gave her a wounded look, hand over his heart.

"What a thing to suggest," he said. But he didn't tell her what they were going to see. Well, maybe it didn't really matter. It wasn't like the dining hall was all that entertaining.

The morning air was crisp and cool, even in this warm season. The barest blue light washed over the sky, illuminating the ground below in washed out tones. Dorian led her up the stairs, around the ramparts, and out over the place where they usually trained. To her surprise, she saw two dozen warriors out in the yard already.

"Here, give me that tea," Dorian whispered. He traded her a mug for a roll from his basket. "The most serious warriors in Skyhold join our Commander in his early conditioning. You have to do a lot of press ups to be able to wield one of those greatswords without tiring. Unless you're Bull."

"So we're here to watch people exercise?" Ivy whispered back. Dorian gave her a little flourishing bow. Obviously that was a yes.

She'd done weirder things.

Feeling a little bit like some over-hormonal teenager sneaking out to watch the Templars chop wood, she gave in and watched. The whole lot of them were moving as one unit. Clearly, this was all a routine they were more than used to. They squatted low, jumped high, dropped to the ground only to press themselves up, and then did it all over again. She'd never made her Wardens do anything like this. Maybe it was being a mage, but she sort of took all the big muscles on the fighters for granted. She hadn't considered that keeping them up might be a lot of work.

Wait.

Was that Cullen?

Several of the men were shirtless, and more than one woman wore just a breast band. One of the shirtless men had a familiar shock of curling blonde hair. Or was it brown? It was hard to tell in this early morning light.

"I see you've spotted the Commander," Dorian said. He took a sip of his tea. So it _was_ Cullen. "Isn't it remarkable how he's almost as imposing out of his armor as he is in it?"

The half naked man in the courtyard was certainly broad shouldered, with thick arms and, she was almost embarrassed to notice, thick legs and an extremely . . . shapely rear end.

The gossips in Val Royeau weren't wrong.

"Imposing? No." That wasn't the word she'd use to describe it. But if she told Dorian what she was thinking she'd never hear the end of it. She wrenched her eyes away from Cullen and swept them out over the field of soldiers. There were plenty of comely forms down there. Lots of people with extremely shapely rear ends.

Maybe she and Dorian would make this picnic their new routine.

"You know, he mentioned the two of you knew each other in the Circle. Kind, is how he described you," Dorian said. He hadn't touched a single bite of bread. He seemed content to sip that tea after every sentence.

She couldn't remember the last time someone described her as kind.

"I rather got the impression he was a bit of a mess back in the day. I can just picture it. Gangly, awkward. A slave to the ravages of puberty." Dorian shuddered delicately. "Has he grown up as much as I think he has?"

She thought about the hours they'd spent in the library, and smiled. "Absolutely. He used to be much more serious. Or he took himself more seriously."

"That hardly seems possible," Dorian objected. Below, in the courtyard, the soldiers appeared to be running through hand to hand drills. Which didn't make a lot of sense, because wouldn't they have weapons if they were in some kind of fight? But maybe weapons could be knocked away. They were all faster than she would have expected them to be. Dodging, ducking. She saw Cullen take a blow to his chest, hard enough to knock him back half a step. He stopped the man who'd hit him. Was he hurt?

He went around to the man's side and showed him something, something to do with hips. After that he squared up across from him again and tapped his sternum. His voice rose over the din in the crisp cool air.

"Just below the breastbone, Caldwell," Cullen said. The man hit him exactly where he'd tapped. He doubled over, briefly, and then jabbed out at Caldwell's hip. Caldwell, clearly taken by surprise, was twisted around and lost his balance. "And keep your guard up!"

"See, that's about as much fun as I've ever seen the man have," Dorian said. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Getting punched. Since you're old friends, maybe you could help him on his road to lightening up. I've got a fantastic book of erotic poetry you could read to him."

Ivy snorted. She could just imagine Cullen's response to that. He wouldn't lighten up, he'd light on fire. And then she'd be out a chess partner, and every day in Skyhold would be awkward.

"Or a deck of cards. Andraste's ass, even just taking the man a cupcake would brighten his dismal existence," Dorian said. The man in question was stalking over to the wall, along with the rest of the soldiers. They gathered breastplates and weapons. Cullen threw on a dark linen shirt and tied his breastplate on with the ease of long practice. She knew how heavy those things were. Obviously the conditioning was working.

Maybe it could be fun. Pop around to his office, talk about books they'd read. And then. . . and then what? So what if she looked forward to their chess games? And so what if she'd noticed how nice his eyes were, and maybe possibly thought about what his hair would feel like if she ran her fingers through it? He'd shown no signs of interest in her whatsoever. He probably saw her and thought about the worst days in his life.

"I don't think he'll want to see me any more than he already does," she said. Her tea was getting cold. She finished it off in one gulp. The men and women below had their armor back on, including Cullen, and they were facing off with weapons instead of fists. How could they just go from one thing to the other like that?

The sun broke over the walls of the fort, and lit the bailey below more clearly. New people, armed and armored, joined those already training in the yard. The sunlight glinted off Cullen's hair and armor like he was some kind of fairy tale prince, like from the stories she read as a little girl.

Doubtless those fairy tales were the reason she had such a weakness for a man in armor.

"My dear, I'm afraid you're quite wrong on that count. Trust me," Dorian said. He winked outrageously. She could only smile and shake her head. Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe not. Either way, she had more important things to do at the moment.

"It's light enough to start our own practice," she said. She finished her roll.

"All right, all right. Change the subject. Just think about it, all right?" Dorian said.

As if she could avoid thinking about it, now that he'd brought it up.

Her daily chess game with the Commander was canceled on account of the Inquisitor's return. Everything in Skyhold came to a screeching halt for several hours. After her formal introduction to Inquisitor Lavellan, she found herself at odds. Leliana, Josie, and Cullen were holed up in the War Room. Morrigan was preparing some kind of report for the lot of them on her most recent trip to the Winter Palace. Dorian was off wherever the Inquisitor was, no doubt, while all this preparation and organization was going on. So Ivy found herself in the armory, looking at the staffs. She really needed a heavier staff if she was going to use it as a stave.

The problem was, she needed to keep a light staff if she was going to carry it on her back all day every day. Forget building muscle, carrying a stick of that length over mountains and through streams was just awkward. There were reasons besides sentiment that she'd kept the old oak's branch. She was used to it.

Maybe she could talk Dagna into making her a staff modeled off the Blade of Tildarion. A back up weapon, something light, that she could keep with her. Of course, she couldn't use any of Dorian's moves. But there was surely someone in Skyhold that could show her how. She liked the idea of having something for close combat, now that the idea was in her head. Something she wouldn't have to drop to cast a spell. The Deep Roads were often close quarters.

"Hello."

She turned around. The armory was empty except for herself and a young man wearing torn clothes and a broad, round hat.

There was something. . . wrong about him.

"Varric tells me that I have to say hello, now that everyone can see me," the young man said. Ivy studied him carefully. He looked normal, he did but he. . . felt wrong. Magically. Not like a mage. And not like a demon.

"You can ask anyone," the young man continued. Ivy gripped the staff in her hand, uneasy. "I was a spirit, but I changed. I'm a person, now, but I haven't got it all right yet. I'm sorry I scared you."

With that, he shuffled away. Ivy blew out her breath slowly. She kept a grip on the staff, and slowly walked out of the armory. The hall was empty, too. Holding her weapon in her hand, she jogged back to the main hall.

Varric was sitting near the door, as usual. Doing some kind of paperwork. The weird kid mentioned him. So he was where she'd start.

"Varric!" she snapped. Heads jerked up all through the hall. Including his. When he saw it was her, he relaxed slightly.

"Warden! Hey there. Thought you were the Seeker, for a moment." He leaned back, massive arm folded comfortably over the back of his chair. "What's up?"

"I just met. . . someone. He mentioned you. Skinny guy, big hat? Creepy as hell?" Ivy said. The confusion on Varric's face cleared.

"Oh, that'll be Cole. He may seem a little odd but he's good. Really. Did he say anything to you?" Varric asked. Ivy rolled her shoulders back, willing the tension out of them. She leaned the staff against the nearest wall. It would be uncivilized, to say the least, to stand among all these random people brandishing a weapon.

"He said he was a spirit, but now he's changed," Ivy said. Varric laughed. At least it was funny to someone.

"Yeah, a spirit of Compassion. Apparently. That kind of thing isn't really my strong suit. Short version is, he showed up at Haven just when it was under attack, and he helped us out. He's hung around since then. We used to have a guy, an apostate, who really got the finer points on all this but he wandered off after we beat Corypheus," Varric said. "But is that all he said? Usually you get more from the kid."

"I apologized for scaring her." The voice that spoke came from the shadows of the doorway. Ivy nearly cast an icy blast at him, but stopped herself just in time. Allies, she reminded herself. They were allies.

"Yeah, kid, you're not really making up for that now. You know people don't like it when you do that cloaking thing inside Skyhold," Varric said. his tone implied this was a conversation they'd had many times. Cloaking. Just. . . something assassins did. A perfectly normal thing. The fact that even Zevran couldn't have hidden so completely in those shadows didn't make it less. . . oh, who was she kidding. This was weird. Even for her.

"Cullen said she was trying to help people. So I want to help her," the kid, Cole, said. Varric winked at her as if this was supposed to be reassuring.

"Help her with anything in particular?" Varric prompted. As though he knew that his friend would stand silently without some kind of conversational direction.

"Yes. I wanted to tell you, you don't have to be afraid. You can rely on the people here for help." The young man did not look at her. His eyes were entirely hidden by the broad brim of his hat. "They won't let you down. And they don't mind. You don't have to count the candles and the meals, they're given freely."

"Now that's words of wisdom, right there," Varric applauded him. Ivy felt warm, deep in her chest. And in her cheeks.

"I don't. . . count the candles I use," she lied. It was difficult to not feel beholden to the people of Skyhold. They gave resources so freely, but she knew how scarce and precious they really were.

"You do. But you don't have to," the young man, or spirit, or whatever he really was said. She didn't argue with him again. "And there's something else. This won't help you, but. . . he said you were here to help people."

Right. Cullen said that about her. Because apparently the man who'd ranted and raved at her about mages being too dangerous to live was sufficiently past that to talk to spirits.

She nodded.

"His nightmares are getting worse. You can help, but he won't ask. You'll have to insist," Cole said.

"Whose nightmares?" she said. Cole tilted his head so his eyes showed around his hat.

"He tried to tell you in the library but he couldn't," Cole said.

Cullen. Cullen was having nightmares? About Kinloch hold, no doubt. Because now she was here.

Great.

"When you go see him, take some of the fizzy cider. It's his favorite," Cole said.

Right.

"Does that make sense to you, Warden?" Varric asked. His whole body was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp.

"Yeah," she said, but she didn't elaborate.

It wasn't her fault that her presence had a bad effect on someone. Not at all. And Maker knew she was here to do important work.

But there was so much time spent waiting for other people to be ready. Surely she might have time to help Cullen with his nightmares. Maybe tonight.


	6. Help With Nightmares

The rain that had been threatening all afternoon broke just after sunset. When rain came in the Frostbacks, it stayed for days at a time. Heavy sheets of rain fell against his office windows. Cullen stayed at his desk, not pacing for fear of getting some of the deluge dripping down the broken parts of his ceiling. His bed would be dry. Dry-ish. But the biggest hole in his roof was right over the ladder that led up to his loft.

It hardly mattered. He had a steady fire and a stack of new reports from the Emerald Graves. He had plenty to occupy himself until he was tired enough to finally sleep.

One of his doors banged open and a hunched figure in a hooded red cloak came in. She - short enough, with enough curves visible he was certain - kicked the door closed behind her. He was on his feet, alert, even though he had no memory of moving.

"Sweet Andraste's swollen feet, that's a storm." She pulled her hood back. Ivy grinned at him, red hair wet only in the very front of her face. He realized his mouth was open and shut it with a snap. She carried something with her, under her cloak.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Which was a lot more brusque than he intended. But she seemed unphased.

"I brought the chess board from the garden. And a bottle of fizzy cider, if you're up for playing," she said. He blinked at her. But he didn't have time to process that before she saw the streams of water falling down near the ladder. "What the hell happened to your roof? Shouldn't you have people to patch that kind of thing?"

"No, I, well, yes. We do. I just don't." God, he sounded as idiotic as he did back when he was a feckless nineteen year old. No wonder she didn't think he was that bright. "Several people have made the offer to patch it. I like it as it is."

"You like a small river pouring into your office?" She came close to his desk. She smelled like rain, and the cinnamon bread they made in the kitchens, and up close she was brilliantly, startlingly real. He found it hard to talk past the inexplicable lump in his throat.

"I like the fresh air," he said. His voice sounded hoarse, for some reason. He cleared his throat. Why did she just keep looking at him with those big gray eyes? Like she could see into his soul? "And the light."

"Oh, that's easy. I have something for that. I don't know if it would work on your roof, though. I'm willing to give it a try," she said. Her smile was open, easy, cheerful. She did not seem to have any comprehension of the tightly controlled world she was barging into.

"What do you suggest?" he sounded so normal. Like he was a reasonable man having a reasonable conversation with an old acquaintance, instead of like he was crashing around screaming inside his head.

"I use this kind of tent spell? If it would be possible to cast it a few feet up from your roof I bet it would keep the rain out but let the air and light in," she said. Her smile was infectious. He felt it tugging at his own lips. Ruthlessly, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, erasing it.

"If you think it could work," he allowed. Normally he didn't let anyone mess with his space. But it would be nice to not have rainwater dripping down in that corner for the next several days. She dumped the things she was carrying on his desk, in the precious clear space, and scampered up the ladder without another word.

That was his _bedroom_ up there.

He followed her. Water splashed down on him, on his head, on his chest. And dammit, he'd have to take this armor off and polish it. He couldn't have it rusting. She didn't even pause when she got to the top, she just pirouetted around and started examining his roof.

Cullen stood by the edge of the loft, just above the ladder, and watched her. Rain dripped down right on his head, but he was already wet. She was soaking, too. In her excitement she'd forgotten to pull her hood up. But she ignored the wet just as he did. Leaning back, so far he was amazed she kept her balance, she spun her hands in the air and then threw them up at the ceiling.

Nothing changed. The broken beams were just where they always were. The faint light from the stormy sky still showed through. But the rain stopped dripping on his head.

Actually, the rain stopped dripping everywhere.

"Did you . . .?" he asked. She straightened, grinning irrepressibly. Her hair plastered to her head, cloak clinging to her arms - she had paid no attention to the water on her way up the ladder.

"That's the stuff! It's sort of a pyramid shape. A magic tent. You said you like the fresh air, so I cast it a couple feet above your roof. It should still keep out most of the rain," she said. She seemed very pleased with herself. It was infectious- he found himself smiling back at her, something giddy bubbling in his chest.

"How long will it last?" he asked. She made a face.

"No idea! I pretty much put them up for a night and just move on, leaving a little dry patch where I've been. But when it breaks down just tell me. It's no real trouble to do it again." She hooked her hands on her hips and glanced around. He was reminded of why he'd followed her up here.

It wasn't like he had secrets on display. He was a habitually neat man- laundry put away, bed made with military precision. He had few belongings. But he still felt odd knowing she was seeing his private space.

"You, ah, forgot to put your hood up," he pointed out. She grabbed at the wet ends of her hair, her smile turning rueful.

"I'm not very careful. It's frustrating for many of my travel companions. Leliana used to fuss like a mother hen," she admitted. He crossed the floor to one of his trunks. He pulled out a towel and a clean shirt. After a moment, he got a towel and a spare shirt for himself.

"I got a bit caught up in the moment myself. Here." He handed over the things he'd pulled out for her. She took them daintily, with just the tips of her fingers. "We'll hang your wet things by the fire to dry. If you want. If you were. . . planning on staying a moment."

"I brought the chess set," she reminded him. It was good that it was dark up here because he could feel the rising blush creeping up his neck. She was in his bedroom. She brought the chess set. Because she wanted to spend time with him.

"Right. Um, yes." Damnit. He was tripping over his words again. He gave her a little half salute and went to the stairs. Retreated, really. "You can change up here. I need to get this armor dried off as soon as possible."

"Don't you fight in the rain?" she asked. Her teeth flashed in the dim light. She was teasing him?

"Of course. And then afterward, you have to dry your armor off as soon as you can," he said. He fled back down the ladder to his office.

He busied himself getting his cloak and armor off. He changed his wet shirt before he began working on the armor. If she came back down before he had the dry one on, he'd be too embarrassed to change in front of her.

A wet thwap drew his attention back to the ladder. A pile of wet clothes, including her red cloak, lay at the bottom. She must have thrown them down. She quickly followed herself, scampering down the rungs much quicker than he usually did.

Like him, she'd changed into one of his dry shirts.

Unlike him, she hadn't kept her pants on.

His mouth dry, he watched the light flash off her bare legs as she moved. What could have possessed her to do such a thing?

She hit the bottom and gathered up her clothes with carefree cheer. As though she weren't half naked.

Her legs weren't nearly as freckled as her arms.

"Where can I hang these?" she said, holding up the pile of wet clothes. He took them from her wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak without sounding like a fool. She didn't seem to mind. She came to stand next to him near the fire, and began unbraiding her hair. He busied himself with hanging up her clothes where they could dry- quickly.

Her hair was much longer than it looked when she had it up.

It lay wet across her shoulders and halfway down her back, like streams of bloodstone. His shirt was much too big for her- it hit her almost at her knees, and billowed around her. He hadn't realized how much smaller she was. Her presence filled whatever room she entered, and it must make her seem taller than she truly was.

She started to dry her hair with the towel. He realized he was staring, and made himself stop.

He should set up the chess board. Something to do with his hands.

What in the Maker's name was wrong with him? It was like he was a callow youth again, all hands and tripping tongue. The way he was carrying on you'd think he had never been alone in a room with a woman before.

He set the board up on one of his chests, one that held old reports too outdated to be immediately useful but too important to simply burn. He had two low stools, the best he could do, pulled up on either side by the time she was done with her hair. It was still damp, darker than its usual blood red, but probably less wet than before. He assumed.

With the fire behind her, he could see the outline of her body under that shirt.

His palms were sweating.

it wasn't that he'd never seen a woman naked before. He'd had a few bed-friends in Kirkwall, before he became Knight-Captain and his life disappeared into duty. Nothing serious. But he certainly wasn't inexperienced enough to justify the way his heart raced at the sight of her.

"Do you often loan people your clothes?" she asked. She wasn't looking at him, so she missed the confusion on his face.

"Not at all."

"Why do I rate such courtesy, then?" she asked. She didn't sound suspicious, or mean, merely curious.

"Leliana will kill me if you catch cold," he said. But the truth was, he had no idea. He'd just done it.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I used to travel with a healer that taught me how to deal with little things like colds. I can fix up a six-inch gash, a little head cold is nothing," she assured him. He ran his hand through his hair. It was slick with water, but it would dry unruly and curly. Wynne was a healer, wasn't she?

And, according to Leliana, an abomination.

"Leliana mentioned that you traveled with Wynne, from the Circle," he said. She just looked at him, brightly. "And that- that she was actually an abomination."

"Oh." Some of the light left her features. She chewed on her bottom lip. Which was clearly a sign of nervousness but also very distracting. "Are you still an abomination if you are in control of yourself? If you're all yourself, but just something else besides?"

"Yes," he answered. Theological debates aside, that one was simple. "And you can't pretend that control always lasts. I understand from Varric that Anders was a gentle person. He ran a clinic, he fed stray cats- and he murdered dozens of innocent people."

"Oh. Anders." Now her face fell, entirely. "I wouldn't have called him gentle. Funny, though. And helpful. It was actually him that taught me how to cope with a cold."

That was right. In Amaranthine, she'd invoked the right of conscription and made Anders a Gray Warden. It was her doing that he was a free man when he came to Kirkwall.

"It's troubling," he said. He picked up a chess piece and toyed with it but did not begin to play. "I hate to think that abominations could be anywhere. Everywhere. It seems half the mages I hear about had some sort of ostensibly benevolent spirit inside them. I wonder how many I walk past, unknowing."

"I imagine that would be difficult for you. Given your past." Her voice was cooler than it had been just a moment ago. The good cheer was entirely gone from her face. Tension sang in the lines of her body. Was she afraid? She looked almost afraid.

There wasn't anything in this room to be afraid of except for him.

"It's all right," he said, gently. He wasn't sure why her whole demeanor changed. "Past or no past. I don't think less of you for having known Anders. I, too, worked closely with someone who turned out to be monstrous. I'm sure you heard tales of Knight-Commander Meredith."

"Oh yes. But- you. You once told me that you had been chosen to cut me down at my Harrowing. If I failed." Her eyes were steady on his. But her voice was cold. This, then, was the deeper fear behind her sudden shift. "What about now? If I were an abomination, if some spirit had taken up residence inside me, would you cut me down? For the safety of everyone else."

"No," he said. That was simple, too. She blinked at him, but did not otherwise move. Maybe he needed to be more clear. "Perhaps if you turned inside out and became a ravaging beast, like the abominations in the Tower. But there's no cure for that, no going back. It wouldn't be you anymore. If you told me, right now, that you're inhabited by a spirit I wouldn't harm you."

"Why not?" she said. He supposed she had reason to be suspicious. She had, after all, seen him at his absolute worst.

"Because you saved Connor in Redcliff," he said. Now he'd properly surprised her. She sat back, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He pressed on. "And because Anders wrote us letters for years, before the Chantry, and I ignored them. We all did. I had the opportunity to talk to Hawke last year, he was here briefly. And I heard tales of abuses I never saw. I never even asked about them. Magic is absolutely dangerous. And, sometimes, people have to be killed to prevent them from killing others. That applies to everyone, not just mages. But. . . the world is not simple. And I have enough blood on my hands without adding yours."

"Oh." She watched him, wordlessly, for a moment. He was quite content to let her. There was a buzzing in his chest and a lightness in his limbs that he hadn't felt in twelve years. When he was nineteen he called it love. Now that he was older he wasn't sure he knew what to call it.

"You're safe with me, Ivy," he said. He forced a smile, and hoped it looked easy. Not strained and pressed. "And not just because you can probably turn me into an icicle faster than I can blink."

She chuckled, some of the tension easing out of her. The look she gave him now wasn't fear at all, but something warm and speculative. Something else he didn't quite know what to call.

"You've really changed. I'm glad. Or, you're more like you were when I first knew you. Before things went wrong. I'm not sure which. But it's good to see," she said. Was she blathering? Was she nervous? Was it possible, even conceivable, that she might be nervous for the same reason he was?

Probably not.

"We should—we should play." He held up his chess piece to illuminate what kind of play he meant. "Since you brought the board."

It was easy, playing chess with her. Easy to fall into a light pattern of meaningless chatter, easy to let himself watch her while she chose her next move. Her hair was frizzy, a faint red halo around her head glinting in the firelight. It seemed impossible that she would be here. After all these years, all the time and distance and with everything that had happened to him since the last time he saw her, how could she be sitting here across from him playing chess?

It was like being drunk, he decided, slowly sipping the cider she'd brought. A little like being drunk and a little like blood loss. He felt light, surreal. And his heart would not stop racing.

"I passed through Orlais on my way here and saw some old friends," she said, sliding a bishop across the board to seize one of his knights. "They told me that you broke more than a few hearts in Halamshiral. Something about a uniform that was too tight? And a steadfast refusal to dance with anyone?"

"Maker's breath," he huffed. "You'd think the attempted coup would be more prevalent in their memories."

"Oh, Cullen, you know a good coup is the lifeblood of Orlais," she said. Now she was laughing at him. He could tell by the way her eyes glinted with mischief. He couldn't bring himself to be irritated, though he did feel his cheeks getting hot. "But a dashing commander who refuses all attention? That's not something you see every day."

"It wouldn't surprise me to learn that Josephine had my suit tailored too tightly on purpose. For her, that wouldn't even be a particularly arcane move in the Game," Cullen complained. He fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest, defensively. This was less embarrassing than his defeat at Wicked Grace, but not by much. "And I'm hardly the sort of turned-out heir those folk should be fawning over. I've no idea why this fancy took any of them at all."

"You may be underestimating your personal attractiveness," she pointed out.

His heart stuttered.

She kept on, talking about Orlais this and the Game that, her hands weaving while she talked as if she were casting a spell and she must be, truly, because she was somehow oblivious to the fact that he was _dying_.

It took him a few moments to remember to breathe.

"And anyway, why didn't you just dance with some of them? That's how you shake that kind of thing," she said. Her full, pink lips were quirked in a smart-ass little smile. He wanted very badly to kiss the smirk off those lips.

This, this exact madness was why he hadn't wanted to be alone with her. He remembered now. Too late.

"I don't know how to dance," he said, lamely. She seemed to require some sort of response. For some reason, his answer amused her. At least he was making her smile. In a manner of speaking.

He made a move on the board. He didn't even think it through, just shoved a piece. She took one of his rooks without even pausing to think about it. He should have seen that coming.

"I'm sorry if this is an embarrassing topic. I didn't mean to push," she said. He let his breath out on a long sigh. She probably really hadn't meant to push at all. It wasn't her fault that he was crashing and burning and screaming inside his head.

She let him make his next move in silence. He tried to get his head back in the game.

"I guess I'm just curious. And I was leading up to it, but, I did a terrible job of asking what I really want to know," she said. He braced himself, hands on his knees, for whatever she was going to say next. "The rumor is that you keep turning people down because you have a secret paramour. Do you?"

Yes. That was exactly as invasive and ridiculous as he had expected.

"Of course not." Was that really what people thought? As if he'd ever keep such a thing secret. How could he? The barracks gossips probably knew what he had for breakfast each morning. By noon tomorrow this little chess game would be public knowledge. With embellishments. "I keep turning down marriage proposals from strangers because they're _strangers_."

"Quite sensible of you," she said, with a grin. "I, myself, have always refused marriage offers from strangers. And friends. It's quite liberating."

He had no idea what to say to that.

It was too late to salvage the game. She really was a competent player, and he'd made several bad mistakes while she was asking her questions. Her hand hovered over the piece she'd have to move to beat him, her face lit in anticipation.

"You weren't going easy on me?" she asked. He straightened, smiling, and shook his head.

"Not at all. The game is yours. Well done," he said. She slammed her piece down triumphantly, and then stood, hopping around in a little circle and pumping her fists in the air.

"I! Beat! Cullen! Rutherford!" she crowed, punctuating each word with a hop and a punch. She looked like an overexcited rabbit, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing at her. She didn't seem to mind. She stopped her victory dance right in front of him, face flushed, grin bright, and held out her hand.

"Shake the hand of the woman who's beaten you," she commanded. He laughed harder, but he shook it. Her hands were soft, and warm, and only the laughter shaking his belly kept him from doing something foolish. Like kissing the back of her hand. Or pulling her into his lap.

"If I'd known you'd be such a poor winner I might not have taught you any of my moves," he said. She made a face at him, taunting, and skipped away.

"You must have forgotten, Cullen, that I am always going to rise to the top in anything I attempt," she said. Ah, yes. There was that old pride. It reminded him of the moment in the Tower when she'd said that she did not fear abominations- abominations should fear her.

Thinking about that cooled him off considerably.

"Speaking of, I tried my hand at herbalism a while back," she said. She crossed the room to her clothes and felt around in one of the pockets. She brought out a small tin and handed it to him. It was plain iron, stamped with little flowers, and when he opened it the inside was full of herbs. "That, my friend, is a remedy cooked up by yours truly for your nightmares."

He snapped the lid shut.

"How did you know about those?" Who could have told her? Cassandra? Lavellan? He didn't think anyone else knew. They weren't supposed to know. He could see Lavellan mentioning it to her if he truly thought she could help. But would they have told her what the dreams were about? Had he ever described them, to anyone, except to say they were about the horrors he'd witnessed?

"Your local Compassion spirit. Cole. He told me you suffer from nightmares, and I can help," she said. Her glee had drained away. She picked at the nails of one hand with the other. "I thought this was what he meant. It's tea. Just herbs, nothing more."

Cole. Of course.

"Did he tell you anything else?" he asked. She frowned, and shook her head.

"Not really. He said you told him I'm here to help people. Thanks, by the way, for that testimonial. I gather the little guy doesn't usually like Wardens," she said.

"He was at Adamant," Cullen explained. But she didn't look enlightened. Just nervous, and uneasy. And she meant well, didn't she? It was a gift. He shouldn't be so churlish about a gift. Even if it touched on his most secret shames. So he took a deep breath, and he tried to let his defensive irritation blow out with his exhale.

"Thank you. Truly. I am not accustomed to talking about them," he said, by way of apology. Her eyes warmed immediately. "But I'm afraid I've tried all the common sleeping draughts. They just make it all worse."

"Oh, that's not for sleep. It's a very common remedy for older folks whose hearts aren't doing well. It slows things down - I think it thins out the blood, because if you take it too much you can start to bleed excessively from little cuts. I first tried it on some of my support troops at Amaranthine, after the Blight. A lot of them had nightmares after facing all those darkspawn. The theory was that when you're afraid, your heart races. And if you can keep the heart from racing you can cut down on some of the fear," she said. She chewed her bottom lip, thoughtfully. He tried to focus on what she was saying and not what she looked like saying it. "It works. Sometimes. It's better than nothing, anyway. But you have to make sure not to overdo it. One teaspoon of herbs in one cup of tea. Any more and you'll get dizzy. I worry a little about you being dizzy in your morning practices, but I think you have a right to try this. If you want."

"My morning practices?" She usually came out after the sun rose, when the bailey was crowded and he'd retreated to higher ground to supervise the drills. Being dizzy might be a problem when he was running through morning conditioning, but surely he'd be able to stand still and shout down commands. Was she blushing?

No. She had to just be flushed from the warmth of the fire.

"Dorian insisted I go out to see you and your men run through your conditioning," she said. And that was all well enough, but why wouldn't she look him in the eye when she said it?

"Why on earth would Dorian think you needed to see that? Does he think you need to join in? I know you camp on your own, often, but I would think magic would be a better defense than any amount of fitness," he said, confused. Now he was certain she was blushing. She made a little negating, shaking motion with her hands and turned away. She busied herself with her clothes. Perhaps they were dry by now.

"I think he wanted to share the visual treat of you all without your shirts on," she said. She shimmied into her pants, but did not take off his shirt. She simply threw her cloak on over it and tucked her own shirt under her arm. "And it is quite the treat. Sorry. I shouldn't have done that without saying anything like some voyeur."

Was she blushing because she'd seen him without his shirt? Was she blushing because she liked what she saw?

With his luck she was probably red in the face from the memory of one of his men.

"I should get back to my rooms. I've bothered you enough for one night," she said, still facing away.

 _Stop. You're not bothering me. You couldn't bother me._

The words seemed to be stuck in his throat.

She paused, turning back to look at him. She was only a few steps from the door. Her eyes were rueful, now. She looked very different in her red cloak. Like a bandit, almost. It hid her red hair and cast most of her face into shadow.

"I was originally planning to ask you a favor, but I don't think it would be fair to you now. Not since you've changed your views on mages," she admitted. He frowned.

"What was the favor?" he said. If she took off the cloak and smiled at him again he might well agree to anything she asked.

"I've just about talked everyone into trying the ritual with me. Dagna's come up with something to contain the blight that's released. We're testing it on some red lyrium tomorrow. After that, we're going to test it on me," she said.

 _No. Absolutely not._

"Dorian says it's experimental. Dangerous."

"Yes, well. Everything worth doing is dangerous." She waved her hand dismissively, casually disregarding the threat to her very existence. "I had this idea in my head of a kind of do-over. A second version of my Harrowing. With you watching over me to make sure that if I became some kind of monster I'd be stopped. But you're not in that line of work anymore."

"No, but-" he scrambled for the words. "I won't allow you to be the one to do it. This is reckless. Even for you."

"Allow? Come, now, Cullen, that's the silliest thing you've ever said. It has to be me," she said. A smile tugged at those lips he wanted to kiss so badly. Was he being foolish? Was she right, and he was just too caught up in wanting to touch her to think clearly? "I'm the only real Warden in Skyhold. And if you think I'm going to summon any of my people here just so they can risk dying in my place, you've got another think coming. You wouldn't do that to your men, either."

She was right. He wouldn't.

But he would damn well tell Leliana to write to the southern Wardens. They owed the Inquisition. And summoning them here wouldn't be any different than ordering them to go fight demons. He had absolutely no qualms with that.

"At least wait," he said. She shook her head.

"If there's anything the past few years have taught me it's that if you wait, some catastrophe will steal all your chances," she said. She tilted her head at him, smiling. Her hands clenched on the edges of her cloak. "Just like you and me. If we'd taken our chance to be together back before I got recruited to the Gray Wardens, we would have had that. It would have been brief, but all of those terrible things would have happened anyway. Our caution only kept us from having good memories later."

Wait.

Their chance?

Had she-?

Did she ever-?

Before he could muster enough coherent thought to string any words together she bobbed a little goodbye bow and left. Just, opened the door and plunged out into the rain. Leaving him sitting on the stool, mind racing.

Their chance to be together. Had she wanted to be together? When they were young?

Was his ridiculous infatuation not one-sided?

He had thought she was teasing him. When she offered to go somewhere alone, to talk. But not just to talk. Or, at best, that she was simply flirting with him because she was bored, and a teenager, and he was just someone to practice her wiles on.

But maybe not.

And now? If she knew what he wanted, would she have stayed?

To have good memories later, if nothing else.

And what if she really were the person who did the experiment? What if she died, and all this time thinking he was indifferent to her only cost them what little chance they had?

He sat there in his office for a long, long time. In the end all his racing thoughts only led him to one conclusion. Cole was right- he wished now that he'd picked her the damn flowers.

* * *

 _The Tower was almost dark this time of night. A few sconces, still lit, kept the shadows from taking over. Even now there had to be some kind of patrol. The Templars couldn't be sleeping while mages practiced blood magic right under their noses._

 _He rounded the corner to the library. It was still well lit, as always. And nearly empty. But she was there. Just as he'd hoped she would be._

 _Her red hair was loose, flowing down her back. It glinted like fresh blood in the lamplight. He wanted to run his fingers through it so badly he could hardly breathe. But his gloves, armored and scaled, would only hurt her if he were to try that. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her._

 _When he got closer he saw her shoulders were shaking under her dark green robe._

" _Amell?" he asked, softly. She turned and rose in one fluid motion. Her face was streaked with tears. His heart tugged, his arms opened. She went to him, hands on the Templar crest on his breastplate, and laid her head against him. He held her, gently as he could so as not to crush her between gauntlets and breastplate. She did not make much noise, crying._

" _Ivy, what's wrong?" he whispered. She pressed against him, harder, her whole body shaking. He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. She smelled like lavender and the ozone left after lightning, like always._

" _They heard me talking to Niall about apostates. About leaving the Circle." Her voice was hoarse, shaking. "They're talking about making me Tranquil. I was only talking! It was all just theory! I don't want to leave."_

 _She looked up, her face just below his. Her eyes were wide and dark, her cheeks wet. He gave into impulse and kissed the corners of her eyes, kissing away the salt lingering there. Then he pressed his lips against her forehead. Right on the spot where she would carry the brand._

" _They won't do that, sweetheart," he assured her. She gulped, trying to calm herself. He stroked her cheek, gently, unable to feel the warmth of her skin through his gloves. "You passed your Harrowing. They wouldn't."_

 _One moment she was looking up at him, eyes wet and wide, as if willing herself to believe the things he said. The next she was kissing him. Her lips were soft, and warm, and he kissed her back with all the desperate hunger that haunted him every day he spent with her. Her hands were on his face, holding him to her as if he might try to escape. But leaving was the last thing on his mind._

" _Oh, for pity's sake."_

 _His blood ran cold. His eyes opened, and he jerked away from Ivy. Meredith was standing on the other side of the library. Knight-Commander Meredith, and her faithful second in command._

 _The Cullen Rutherford facing him was older, stronger, his armor bearing insignia of rank he'd never hoped to achieve. His face was cold. And the man's eyes were red with the glow of tainted lyrium._

 _Cullen squeezed Ivy, once, and then put her behind him. He stood between her and Meredith. But he knew it wouldn't do any good._

" _The both of you are guilty. And both of you will be punished," Meredith said._

 _Knight Captain Rutherford strode toward them, his hand on his sword. Cullen knew what would happen next. His heart sinking, he drew his sword. The broadsword he wielded in his youth. Knight Commander Rutherford unsheathed his own sword, and pulled his shield up. A scowl darkened his features. Without a single word, he attacked._

 _His blows were vicious, punishing. His shield was as much a weapon as his sword. And Cullen, strong but clumsy with his overweight broadsword, was beaten back._

" _You think you can change?" Knight Captain Rutherford hit him, hard, with his shield. His whole weight was behind it. And Cullen fell, hard, barely bringing his sword up in time to block the next blow._

 _He heard a scream, and looked away from his opponent for only a fraction of a second. Meredith was advancing on Ivy. Her sword was bare. And the young mage looked terrified._

 _And he couldn't get to her._

" _You're a disgrace," Knight Captain Rutherford growled. His sword plunged down._


	7. Books, Kisses, and Exploding Lyrium

"Rumor has it that you spent quite some time in the Commander's office last night," Dorian said. Ivy stumbled, almost dropping her staff.

Their morning practice was just wrapping up. She'd brought up her concern about carrying a heavier staff, and Dorian had roped in one of the swordsmen to see if she could even swing a blade – or a magic blade – hard enough to matter. Her sword arm wasn't anything to write home about. But that was hardly surprising. Wielding a staff takes different muscles entirely.

"Well, aren't you well-informed." She wasn't inclined to elaborate. His eyes glinted with mischief. He clearly thought something scandalous and delightful was going on with her and Cullen.

Which couldn't be further from the truth.

She'd thought about it. Standing in his bedroom, listening to him move around in the office below. Her fingers shook when she skimmed out of her wet clothes. And, well, it wasn't much of a stretch to leave her pants off with her shirt. They were both wet. Unpleasant. And it had certainly occurred to her that maybe, just perhaps, the man would like what he saw.

All those years ago in the Circle she'd thought about it more than once. Maybe back then it was just the idea of being wanted. His blushes couldn't have been more obvious. She wasn't sure she would have ever done anything too salacious, but she'd read enough torrid Orleisian romances to know that having a tall, muscular man fawn at her feet would be a great deal of fun.

But he was sweet, back then. She remembered.

And then catastrophe stole all their chances. And she'd thought his personal hell stole all the kindness from him, too. All the soft, sweet pieces of him that she'd seen in the glints of his smile and the care he took of his men these past few weeks. She thought, before she came here to Skyhold, that those parts of him were a casualty of the Blight. One of many. He seemed to have recovered them.

Now that she was older, more experienced, she could think of better places for a man built like him to fall than at her feet. And she didn't think it would be fun—she knew it would.

"Are congratulations in order?" Dorian pressed. She sighed. He could at least keep his voice down. They were just now leaving the bailey, drifting toward other duties with everyone else who came out for morning practice.

"Are you picturing an epic romance, Dorian? Two young lovers torn apart by the Blight, reunited a decade later? I'm sorry to disappoint, my friend, but that isn't the kind of epic story I take part in," she teased him. He recoiled in fake surprise, although the look on his face was very shrewd.

"What? No romance? My dear, I had no idea you were living such a life. Truly, the angels must weep," Dorian said. Despite herself, she laughed.

And accidentally made eye contact with Cullen, who was stalking toward the main hall not ten feet away from her.

He didn't look at all amused.

"So what were the two of you doing, then?" Dorian asked.

"Playing chess. How do you even know about it?" she asked. She decided on the spot that Dorian did not need to know about Cullen lending her his shirt. She had it, folded up in her pack in her room. Maybe she'd remember to give it back. Maybe not. It was big enough to wear on its own, practically, and very soft.

"You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads," Cullen chimed in, his voice so low it was almost a growl. She could just imagine him growling like that, right in her ear, all the things he wanted to do to her.

He was back in his customary armor and cloak. Was the shirt peeking through between his shoulder plates and gauntlets as soft as the one she'd borrowed?

It really was a pity he didn't seem interested.

"Sorry," she said, to Cullen. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "About the rumors. I didn't mean to make you lose face in front of your men."

"I wouldn't say he lost face," Dorian chuckled. "You are, after all, the Hero of Fereldan."

"Dorian," Cullen snapped, the single word both warning and command. To her very great surprise, Dorian backed off.

"Oh, would you look at that. I think I see a very handsome elf standing all on his own," Dorian said, as if ignoring Cullen. It would have been a good exit line, true or not, but Lavellan actually was standing up on the dais talking with Josephine. Dorian gave her a little wave goodbye, continued to ignore Cullen, and skipped off to join his lover up by the throne.

No one could say he didn't have style.

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck in an old self-conscious gesture. Ivy patted him on the arm. It was meant to be reassuring, but the poor man nearly jumped out of his skin when she touched him. He seemed to instantly regret the overreaction.

"Sorry," he said. "I just, don't need any help embarrassing myself in front of you. Apparently. Not that I could possibly stop Dorian if I tried."

"No one can stop Dorian." People were streaming around them in the hall. Their steps were slow, now. She was angling toward the Undercroft. Dagna should be just about ready for their first experiment. If she knew the young dwarf- and she did – Dagna had probably been up all night tinkering with it.

The Inquisition mages wanted to start with red lyrium. Which was fine with her. She'd tried out her theories on a few darkspawn she managed to find on the road. So far, she was absolutely certain that she knew how to remove the Blight from a living creature. And according to Dagna, the Inquisition had some evidence that lyrium was alive. In a way.

The darkspawn she'd experimented on all disintegrated as soon as the Blight was removed. Which sort of confirmed that they were simply a very specific form of undead. She wasn't sure what red lyrium would do—it could return to normal, or shatter, or change into something new.

"I was wondering, actually, if you had a moment. To talk." Cullen studied her out of the corner of his eye. He seemed exceptionally nervous. She'd told him last night about her plans to run the experiment today. Maybe it was about that. These Skyhold folks were incredibly cautious.

"Sure," she said. He gave her a little shaky nod and led her through the door to the War Room. But instead of continuing on toward Josephine's office he took her down a flight of stairs toward the kitchens. They turned, in the lower hall, and he led her through a massive wooden door into what appeared to be another library.

Every surface was covered in dust. No one had made any attempt to clear out spiders, either, and their webs were everywhere. The place smelled of damp stone and very old books, and for just a moment she was viscerally reminded of the Tower. She drew a shaky breath, and leaned against the ancient table.

"This is. . . I wanted to ask you. Privately. What you meant just before you left, last night," Cullen said.

What?

The tips of his ears were very pink. His hands rested on the pommel of his sword, not in threat but out of old comfort-seeking habit. What was it she'd said just before she left?

"About catastrophe stealing all our chances?" she guessed. He breathed out a long, slow breath, watching her face. But he did not seem to realize it was a question. "Do you think differently?"

"I didn't realize. . ." He stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. "I didn't know there were any chances. To lose."

All right, now he wasn't making any sense.

His eyes were wide and dark, staring down at her. With the scent of old books filling her nose and the sight of him looming over her in that gleaming armor, she could have sworn it was nearly like travelling back in time. Her heart raced in her chest. She felt almost like a young girl again, stumbling toward her first brush with confusing feelings.

Was that what he meant?

Was he transported back to being that young man who stammered at the sight of her?

"You mean, our chances to be together?" she hazarded. He took a half step forward, hesitant but focused. Like the world was narrow, and small, and contained only this room and the both of them in it.

"I never thought you. . . did you ever. . ." He seemed to struggle to find the words. The pink blush on the tips of his ears was joined by the flush in his cheeks. Clearly embarrassed, he covered his eyes with one hand, rubbing at the tense lines of his own brow. "Maker's breath."

She let him find his own words, her heart thudding in her own ears. She didn't want to assume. But if he didn't get around to it soon she might faint from the anticipation. It would be the only time in her life she'd ever fainted from anything less severe than catastrophic blood loss but there had to be a first time for everything.

"I know how I felt. How I feel," he said. His voice was soft and low. It almost seemed impossibly, wrong, that it could be the same voice that just growled at Dorian and shouted orders at soldiers all morning. But it was. She licked lips gone inexplicably dry. "But I never thought you might. . . feel. . . anything for me."

Oh, Andraste's knickerweasels, this was more serious than she ever thought.

He didn't take his hand down from over his eyes. Like if he looked at her, his courage would fail him. Which was ridiculous. She was entirely certain his courage had never failed him in his entire life.

Just like hers had never failed her.

So why would it be easier to be facing down a horde in the Deep Roads than having this conversation?

"Of course I. . ." If only she could think of a joke. Something witty, to defuse the tension crackling in this room. Damnit, why couldn't he just kiss her like a normal human being?

She choked, unable to finish the thought. She didn't even know what she wanted to say. But the silence stretched, between them. And after a long time, he ran the hand that covered his eyes back through his hair and looked at her at last. His smile was more brave than genuine.

"Of course." His voice was still very soft. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to cause any distress. Please just forget I said anything."

Oh. He thought she was rejecting him.

He was already turning, leaving her down here in this library that smelled just like their old home. And it was entirely, utterly unacceptable.

She was across the room in two steps. She grabbed a handful of the fluffy feathers puffing off his shoulders, and stopped him. He didn't turn. He just stared ahead, as if looking at her would be too much. He used to do that, back in the Circle. After they talked, late at night, or she teased him.

So she did what she wanted to do, all those years ago.

She leaned up, on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble pricked at her lips, but his face was warm. He sighed, and relaxed by inches, leaning down a little so she didn't have to strain so hard to reach him.

Her hand on his arm, to steady herself, she pressed little kisses to his jaw, his cheekbone, the top of the scar that cut through his lip. And then she pressed her lips gently against his.

His careful stillness snapped like a plucked bowstring.

His hands were sliding along her jaw, into her hair. His body was pressing her, pushing her backwards, back into the wall of shelves. She hit it with a thud and a crash, and books fell all around them.

That seemed to wake him up.

He jerked away from her as if her touch burned his skin. His eyes were dark and wild.

"I'm sorry! I –" he said, panic lacing his tone. But she grabbed him by the leather straps holding his armor to his cloak, and she kissed him again. This time he melted into her, letting go of some fear or inhibition that had kept him distant for far too long.

He pinned her to the shelves, pressed her between the broad, hard expanse of his body and the old wood behind her. She made a little sound, deep in her throat, and he deepened their kiss, tasting her with a hunger that seemed endless and insatiable.

And it wasn't enough for her, either.

She pulled him closer, encouraging him. His thigh slipped between hers, his hand slid down her hip and pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist. She could feel him through his breeches and her leathers, hard and hot and insistent. When she ground against him, he growled into her mouth.

Maker's bloody wounds, if he wanted to have her right here and now against these shelves she wouldn't say no.

His fingertips trailed along her neck toward her hair, his thumb rubbing along the line of her jaw. The feel of his leather gloves against her skin make her breath come sharp, made her moan into his mouth. His hips twitched and jerked against her, providing pressure almost just where she wanted it most and making her absolutely crazy.

"Ivy." He whispered her name against her lips. It shuddered through her, making her body tremble against his. His hand clenched on her hip, holding her still. "Maker, I-"

Laughter, mischievous as a child's, filled the air, followed by the slam of a door and guttural cursing. Cullen's whole body tensed. But no one came near them. The laughter and cursing trailed away, as though someone were being chased by another, more irritable, someone.

He did not move to kiss her again. He did look, long and hard, at her eyes, her mouth, the place in her throat where he could no doubt see her pulse hammering against her skin. The moment stretched between them and left the yearning, aching unfulfilled want inside her still, deep in her belly.

"It's hard to believe I'm awake," he whispered. His thigh was still between hers, his body holding her to the shelves. Every move, every breath, made their bodies touch.

"So you dream about me often?" She was teasing, but she hoped he did answer. His thumb brushed softly against her cheek.

"Almost every night," he admitted. "Mind you, they usually aren't good dreams. Not- not like this. Now, if you were to explode in a shower of red lyrium right about now that would be a good clue I was still dreaming."

Something about what he was telling her nagged at a half-forgotten memory, but it was terribly out of place in this moment. Here, with his hand tight on her hip and his mouth just inches from her own, she wanted to only think about good things. She filed that away for later and took advantage of where he was to press another kiss against his mouth.

It was a long, long time before they parted. And it was, of course, his idea. He set her down, carefully, as though she were fragile as an egg. But his smile was bright and genuine, and just for her. Her heart still fluttered in her chest.

Had they really just done that?

When could she do it again?

"We should. . ." He smiled down at her, and reached for her one last time. Just to caress her cheek in the palm of his hand. "I mean, people will begin to miss us. Maker forbid, they might actually come looking for us. We should . . . return."

"Right. Poor Dagna. She's probably been waiting since dawn to rip the Blight out of some red lyrium," she acknowledged. He nodded, but he was leaning in, his hand still on her cheek. He kissed her. Soft, and sweet, and all too briefly.

"I admit, I'm uneasy knowing the two of you are working together now. I'm not sure Skyhold can withstand a sizeable explosion from within," he said. He did not seem to be joking. She grinned anyway, rocking on her heels.

"It's not like we haven't worked together before. And everyone who was supposed to survive made it out," she said. His eyebrows lifted, lip quirking in that maddening little half smile. "I'm the one who helped her get out of Orzammar and into the Circle in the first place, you know. I took her message to the Grand Enchanter. And Irving owed me."

"So this is all your doing," Cullen noted. He swallowed, smile briefly giving way to a thoughtful frown. "Come to think of it, a lot of what shaped the Inquisition is your doing. You did kill the dragon that previously guarded Haven, which is what allowed the Conclave to meet there."

"Yep."

"And you did spare Anders in Amaranthine."

"Who hasn't made friends with an abomination or two?"

"I don't think I have."

"You're missing out."

If he'd just stop staring at her with those puppy dog eyes she could wiggle her fingers farewell and sail on out without a qualm.

"You should go on upstairs," he said, as if he could read her mind. He stepped back, stopped touching her. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He was right. It was past time. She smiled, hand clenching with the effort of not squeezing his hand when she walked past because if she touched him again she wouldn't leave. And she jogged back upstairs.

It was the work of a moment to slip out through the busy hall. No one seemed to pay her much attention. Which was just fine with her.

She went directly to the Undercroft. Dagna was, as she expected, impatiently hammering away at some new invention. The dwarf threw up her hands with an exclamation of frustration when Ivy walked in.

"Where have you been? No, nevermind. Let me just—" Dagna brutally smashed whatever it was she was working on with her hammer, knocking it into a groove on one of her machines where it would reliably stay put. "I want to see what it does!"

"Yes, absolutely," Ivy laughed.

Dagna had the ceremonial space set up just like she'd suggested. Her earlier experiments with darkspawn stragglers weren't nearly this ornate. But they also didn't take place inside a heavily populated fortress. So, precautions were sensible. She'd set up the red lyrium inside an apparatus that she assured everyone that would listen would contain anything. Absolutely anything, from a demon to a grenade.

The door opened behind her, and Cullen steeped through. If he was just going to follow her, why not walk with her? Those dreaded rumors Dorian mentioned?

Dagna paused in her scurrying just long enough to give him an opportunity to interrupt her if he was there to say something important. When he did not, she simply continued. She made Ivy take two steps further back. Then she gave the mage a thumbs-up.

Ivy did not want to use her staff for this. She wanted to feel the magic, let it go herself—especially if one day soon she'd feel it directed at her.

The ritual was difficult to figure out, but simple to execute. Much like changing one's physical form. And, just like turning into a giant spider, it took a few minutes. But it was worth it. She'd spent the last few years of her life coming up with this, and she had plenty of good information to start with. The work of Avernus, Morrigan, and even Jowan was incorporated into her final product. It was her best guess at how to replicate what happened to Fiona in the Deep Roads, the thing that made her not a Warden anymore.

Everybody always tried to fix the Blight like it was an illness. And it was. It moved like any other blood-borne disease. But disease is part of the natural world. And the Blight was, for lack of a better term, unnatural. It had to do with the Fade, and the Veil, in a way she didn't quite understand. From what she could determine the Fade and the real world wanted to be the same, and they were separated not by anything physical but by a certain perspective, a method of being, a magic rooted in what might be Ancient Tevinter or might be even older.

The Blight was just the most terrible side effect of that separation, of the Veil and the consequences for tampering with it. The Mage Collective shared their research on rift magic with her while they were developing it, and it was the final piece to the puzzle for her. She couldn't reverse time or heal the Blight. That was beyond anyone. But she could reshape the wrongness of the Blight, bring balance back to the pieces of the being that was corrupted.

She felt it gather, and let it stream out. Slowly. She was still practicing this. Dagna's apparatus made it more difficult. She'd talk to the dwarf about that.

But she just about had it.

The red was leaching out of the lyrium. It shone, brilliant blue, not bloody red. It was—

BOOM.

The lyrium exploded into tiny fragments, nearly dust. It coated the entire inside of Dagna's apparatus. But it was blue. The dust was blue, not red.

"Oh, hey, so that kind of worked?" Dagna said. Ivy grinned at her, and stretched. She worked her jaw open, trying to pop it. Working that particular spell made her tense all over.

"That doesn't look like the best idea."

Ivy looked up, startled, to find Lavellan standing at the top of the stairs. He stood with his hip slung wide, hand resting on it, casual as if he were watching some Rivani play.

"It was a good idea, Warden. But I don't think my spymaster will forgive me if I let you blow yourself up," he continued. Wait, what was he saying?

"It reacts differently with living tissue," she assured him. He shook his head, softly. Did this half-grown stripling of a mage think he could tell her what risks she was going to take? "I assure you there is little danger of exploding."

"Just think of the hand bills," he drawled. "Inquisition Blows Up Hero of Fereldan. No thank you." She started to walk toward him, mouth curling in a snarl, but reminded herself that she was standing in his fortress.

"What if I can demonstrate to you that this is perfectly safe for a living creature? Lyrium is volatile anyway, as you well know," she pointed out. He grimaced his uncertainty.

"If you could, that might be something. But I dislike the idea of sacrificing Wardens for this," he said. She bit her tongue on all the comments about Adamant that came to mind.

"I was thinking darkspawn," she said.

"Oh. Well, if you can un-blight a couple darkspawn, that would be quite the show," Lavellan said. His smile turned condescending. As if in his twenty-some-odd years of life he'd seen enough to think he could tell her what was possible and what wasn't.

She took her leave before she said something she'd regret.

Scowling, Ivy kicked and stomped her way up the stairs to Leliana's rookery. Leli's spies gave her a wide berth. Smart people. Leliana trained them well.

Her old friend was seated at a plain wooden table, writing something. As always, the candles on her little altar to Andraste were lit. Ivy considered this space to be a good indication of Leliana's true character. If she wanted, she could get herself a big imposing desk like Josephine. She could wear pretty heeled boots all over Skyhold. She could decorate her office with fine tapestries, nice statues, and no one would think twice about it. But, with all the resources of the Inquisition at her disposal, she kept a humble little table and a small altar.

And a nice stock of wine.

"There you are. Did Lavellan find you?" Leliana asked. Oh. Great. People were looking for her earlier. When she was making out with Cullen in the library like some kind of teenager.

Well, more accurately, like she wanted to when she was a teenager.

"He found me." Ivy decided on the spot that Leliana didn't need to know anything about how she spent her morning. "He wasn't very reassured by Dagna's test. Apparently I've given him the impression that I'm going to blow myself up."

"Well, that explains the thundercloud that's following you around," Leliana smiled. Ivy glanced up. There was not, in fact, a literal thundercloud. But as a mage she felt she needed to check. Magic manifests in odd ways sometimes and there's a first time for everything. "What will you do now?"

"Well, I can either sneak off and just do things my way, which, you know I always prefer that." It's so cumbersome to work with other people. They go so slowly, and need so many assurances. "Or I can capture a couple of hurlocks and make a big demonstration out of them. They're less combustible than lyrium."

"Ah." Leliana set her quill down. Her gaze was very shrewd. "I'm surprised that you haven't already just tried it out on yourself, to be honest. Not that I'm encouraging you to do so."

"I would, if it was just about figuring out if it worked," Ivy said. She slumped down onto the bench across the table from Leliana. Several of Leliana's people milled around, and since they were all spies they no doubt were hanging on every word. But that didn't bother Ivy. Not with this topic. "You know Weisshaupt isn't going to approve of this. No matter how safe it is or isn't, it's a change to the fundamental nature of the Order. If there's a way out? We're a different organization than we ever have been."

"Not to mention the feeling of betrayal the older Wardens will feel. Their friends went to the Deep Roads to die, and now people don't have to suffer that same fate? Some people feel the need to perpetuate pain just because if it was avoidable then their loved ones suffered in vain," Leliana added.

"They're going to oppose this," Ivy said, grimly. She tapped her fingertips on the table. "But if it's big, and showy? If everyone in the Inquisition sees it, talks about it, writes it down—maybe I can make sure this cure doesn't get lost."

"You might have a better ally there than you think," Leliana said. The corner of her mouth curled up. "I wrote to King Alistair—"

"Oh, Leli—"

"He's a fellow Gray Warden, is he not? And a friend? I was surprised that you hadn't told him-"

"You know damn well why I didn't tell him what I was doing!" Ivy snapped. "Meddlesome giant hero might as well stick a 'kill me' sign on his back for all the care he takes of his own life and I-"

"You might as well do the same?" Leliana suggested. She looked, for just a moment, as mischievous as the young bard she used to be. Ivy huffed her disapproval. But there was no point arguing with Leliana about it, the damage was already done.

"So I assume he's on his way?" Ivy said. Alistair would take any chance to abandon his royal duties temporarily. Besides, she knew she was one of his big soft spots. The giant lug would come down very hard against her volunteering to be the first Warden cured. He'd probably want that honor himself. Not least because if he was cured he'd finally feel free to marry that Cousland woman.

Ivy could just hear him now, waxing poetic about how he'd be honored to risk his life for the honor of marrying the woman he loved. Which would be entirely ridiculous and counter-productive. She wanted him alive for the next forty years, with at least one good heir and a couple of spares, to ensure Fereldon wouldn't descend into chaos after all her hard work to save it.

"His Majesty will arrive in approximately two weeks," Leliana said, delicately. Great. Just great. With a heavy sigh, Ivy pushed off from the table and stood. "Where are you going?"

"I need to talk to Dagna about some cages that might be strong enough to hold a Hurlock. Or twenty. If I don't get those back here before Alistair arrives he's going to want to come darkspawn hunting with me," Ivy said. She pointed at Leliana. "You need to help. You just advanced my timetable considerably. I'm going to need some raw materials, I'm sure."

"Not a problem. But, ah, all uses of Inquisition materials are going to have to be cleared through Lavellan," Leliana reminded her. Stifling a frustrated scream, Ivy went back downstairs. She and Dagna were going to have to work fast.


End file.
